#its a matter of pick your poison on who makes orders to kill whom

[codesquire]

Joe Biden is a "better human"?

Aiding in Genocide ain't being a "better human," brah.

[walkerwords]

“In Her Sights” F!Reader & Negan (Daryl x Reader Background)

Summary: You are a former special ops member. When Negan killed Glenn and Abraham you were on a run for weapons. When you learned of what happened, you were pissed, especially since Negan now had your husband, Daryl. When Negan comes for week one pick up, you are waiting for him, unseen and with demands.

Word Count: 2250

Warnings: cursing

Song I Wrote To: “Bloodlust” by The Phantoms

Note: some things are different, just go with it! :) Requests are welcome, go ahead and send prompts for everything TWD.

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The rumble of the trucks alerted the scouts on the edge of the perimeter. 

Tobin immediately called in the arrival of the Saviors. You wasted no time in getting into position. Since you had arrived back in Alexandria and learned about Abraham and Glenn, the rage that you normally kept at bay boiled in your chest. Then Rick had told you about Daryl. You had destroyed half of your bedroom when hearing of that particular news.

The guilt was heavy in your heart. You were their wild card, the one that always kept them safe. You were the one who took out the snipers at Grady and even most of the Termites that threatened them when Carol attacked Terminus. It was your job to be invisible. You and Abraham were the two veterans of the group and while he took charge with war tactics, it was you, the former special-ops member, to take out their enemies unseen and show their true strength. 

However, the night that Maggie was sick and needed to get to Hilltop, You were out on a run to a nearby Air Force base with Jesus. You needed a few extra trinkets to work on your weapons and incendiary devices. When you had returned home to the news, you swore you wouldn’t leave them undefended again. 

You made your way to the vantage point in the trees. You and Sasha had managed to camouflage it perfectly with the help of Eugene and Carl. It was invisible unless you knew what you were looking for and it gave you the perfect view of the front gate and the hostiles that approached Alexandria. You readied your rifle, adjusting the silencer on it as well as the laser sight. Through your scope, you could see both sides of the wall. Rick and Aaron were waiting for your orders. Aaron on the ground and Rick hidden on the watch post. Two other weapons were at your side on the platform as well as three soaked sheets of Walker blood to detract the Dead from circling your hiding spot. 

You trained your weapon on the approaching vehicles, counting the Saviors and gaining a perspective on their weaponry. While they may have more ammo, they didn’t know about you, and Rick was careful to keep it that way for as long as possible. The Saviors exited their trucks and readied their weapons as the boss finally made an appearance. You sneered as Negan strutted towards the gate. His leather jacket hugging his broad chest and his infamous baseball bat hitched onto his shoulder as if he was putting on a show. 

“Little pig! Little pig! Let me in!” He bellowed and you switched on your laser sight. You aimed it right at Negan’s heart. Immediately, the man to his right pointed it out. The man with the pornstache, Rick called him Simon, pointed to his boss, taking a step back. Negan glanced down and anger filled his face. “What the shit!” he yelled. 

“Aaron,” you said into your walkie and the gate slowly slid open. The Saviors all turned their weapons on Aaron who ignored them and walked towards Negan. He held out the walkie to the leader without saying a word. Negan stared at him, unmoving, so you raised the laser to right between his eyes. Simon grabbed the walkie and offered it to his boss, a warning look in his eyes. Negan snatched the radio and Aaron walked back inside the walls, shutting the large gate behind him. Aaron nodded to you and you then lowered your sight back onto the man’s sternum. 

“What the fuck is this, Rick?” Negan said into the walkie. 

“This isn’t Rick, asshole,” you said calmly into the radio. Negan looked around, trying to guess where the shooter was, but he would never find you. Even if he discerned where you were held up, you had activated traps around the tree. The Saviors would be blown sky high before they even got the chance to reach you.

“Whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?” Negan asked, slipping back into his cocky performance. 

“That’s not your concern,” you said, your teeth grinding together. “You know, we haven’t met, but I like to think we have something in common, Negan.” 

“And what’s that?” he asked, gripping his bat harder. 

“The whole ‘we are Negan’ bullshit. That’s how I work too. I’m everywhere you sick son of a bitch. The only reason you are still alive is because when you slaughtered my friends, I was out on a weapons run. If I had been in that RV, your first roadblock would be a pile of charred bones right now.”

“You’re real brave to threaten me, sweetheart,” he growled. “Why don’t you come on out and we can discuss this like grown-ups?”

“I prefer to keep my distance,” you responded. 

“Sounds a bit cowardly to me,” Negan spat back. 

“At least I didn’t kill an unarmed soldier and the husband of a pregnant woman who kneeled at your feet as she struggled to keep her unborn child alive,” you returned with as much venom as you could muster, feeling both Glenn and Abraham’s loss in your chest. Negan had gone quiet, looking at Simon.

“She was pregnant?” Negan finally asked. 

“No, she just had a bad case of food poisoning. God if you were even still remotely human you would have asked what was wrong with her. Not that any of that matters now. Maggie is dead along with her son.” Negan hung his head slightly as he heard the news. You, of course, knew that Maggie was fine. The widow was now at Hilltop with Sasha and Enid as she finished her pregnancy. However, Negan didn’t need to know that. “Congratulations, asshole, you killed a pregnant woman.” 

“What the hell do you want?” Negan fired back. “What game are you playing?”

“This isn’t a game, Negan, this is just how things are going to be from now on. I have some demands and you’re going to meet them or you die.” 

“Again with the threats, darlin’,” he said, still searching the trees. It was silent for a moment. “Did you disappear on me?” You raised the laser sight to his throat. 

“I know you have Daryl,” you said, your tone deadly calm. 

“I do,” Negan said smugly. “What interest is he to you?” You watched as the man on his left, Dwight, you figured, glance back at one of the trucks. Even at this distance, you could see the unmistakable mop of hair of your husband. 

“You’re going to release him,” you told him, “You are going to let him go and you will return both his vest and his crossbow or I start shooting.” Negan glanced around, nearly laughing amongst his Saviors as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“Here’s a question for you mystery lady,” he said, taking a few steps towards the main gate. “Who is he to you and why shouldn’t I just put a bullet in his brain right now?” You flexed your hands around your weapons, trying to stay calm. Rick had warned you that Negan would try to get under your skin and that you needed to be careful. You were trained to control your emotions, but even you had to admit that this man knew how to get under people’s skin. It made you want to shoot him even more. 

“If you even try to pull a gun on my husband, I will fill your body with so many holes that even your Walker body won’t be able to get up and walk again,” you threatened evenly. Negan nearly dropped the walkie at your words. 

“Woah! Husband! Did you hear that, D? Your man Daryl has a goddamn woman to warm his bed!” Negan said to Dwight who was looking like a fidgeting weasel. “Well, shit, sweetheart, I didn’t know our Daryl was such a lucky man. Tell me, what it is that you find so fucking special about him? Cause if I’m being honest, he’s not much to look at, at least not since we’ve had him.” Negan sent a smile in your general direction, clearly enjoying all of this very much. However, you were tired of playing this back and forth shit. 

“You have ten seconds to do what I asked or my rifle finds its first target,” you said. 

“I have a better idea,” Negan said, “why don’t you take that rifle and shove it up your ass?” 

“Fine,” you said and then quickly retrained your weapon, “Ten,” you counted and fired, shooting a Savior right between the eyes. The body dropped quickly. “Nine,” you shot another man. “Eight,” a woman to Negan’s left went down in a spray of blood. “Seven,” the man next to Dwight dropped. 

“Stop!” Negan bellowed and your finger stalled on the trigger. Simon stared around in horror at the scene, seeing his four dead comrades creating pools of blood across the asphalt. 

“Daryl. Now,” you repeated. 

“Shit!” Negan cursed and then looked at Dwight. “Get him,” he ordered. Dwight wasted no time in running to the truck Daryl was being held in. You watched every move as Daryl stumbled out of the truck and besides a few bruises and cuts, he seemed to be in one piece. You would make sure Rosita took a look at the gunshot wound that must have still been bothering him. Dwight shoved Daryl towards the gate, past Negan who glared at him.

“And the vest,” you said into the walkie. Dwight shrugged out of the leather vest and shoved it into Daryl’s hands. Daryl approached Dwight, getting into his face. Leveling a stare that made the other man swallow hard. “I believe he wants his weapon,” you said, easily reading the body language of your husband. Dwight just stared back, being stubborn. Daryl took a few steps back and then raised his right hand hooking his fingers towards you. You adjusted your aim and shot at Dwight’s feet, causing him to jump a foot or so back. 

“Dammit Dwight!” Negan yelled and Dwight grabbed the bow from the back of his truck and tossed it to Daryl who caught it easily. You then moved the laser sight towards Aaron and then back to Daryl and Aaron opened the gate. Daryl wasted no time in turning and walking back into his home, not even bothering to glance back at his captors. 

“Great,” you said, “now, kindly fuck off because I still have six more bullets with Savior names on them.” Negan nearly crushed the radio in his hands. 

“I’m going to kill you,” Negan promised. 

“That’s funny,” you laughed, “my friend said the same thing to you.” You then turned to see Rick stand up and make himself known. Negan turned to the leader of Alexandria with a sneer. Rick stood on top of the gate like a king as he stared at the Saviors below. His hand was resting on his gun. Negan noticed that immediately. Rick smiled. “A friend recently made a visit to the Sanctuary while you were on the road,” you explained. “Don’t worry, Fat Joey is still alive, he’s just missin’ a few fingers.” Jesus had retrieved the colt only an hour before the convoy had arrived. It was just icing on the cake for your plan.

“Why don’t you just pull the trigger?” Negan said into the radio, but his eyes remained on Grimes. 

“All in good time, Negan,” you said, recentering your crosshairs on him. “I want you to live for a little bit longer knowing that any point I can blow your brains out with a twitch of my finger. It makes me sleep better at night. So, you’re going to get back in your cars and leave Alexandria and if you come back, I will not only kill you, but everyone with you and then take them all back and let them loose on the Sanctuary and have your people fend for themselves. Do you understand?” 

“We had a deal, dick!” Negan called up to Grimes, swinging Lucille around in his hand. 

“She doesn’t make deals, Negan!” Rick called back. “Now go before I do kill you.” You didn’t wait for another witty comeback as you took aim and fired on another Savior. 

“Six,” you said. Negan threw the walkie down on the ground and strutted back to his truck. You watched them leave, their vehicles disappearing down the road. You then turned the channel on your radio and called to Tobin and Carl who were on standby at the end of the drive. “You can release them now.” 

————

A mile or so down, Tobin and Carl released two Walkers that stumbled out into the road.

As Negan’s convoy came across them, he slammed on the breaks. You and Rick had taken your time to perfect the art project. Both Walkers were male, dressed in biker boots, jeans, and leather jackets that they had found in the back of the closet of an empty house in Alexandria. Rick then had found two baseball bats and tied them to the Walkers’ hands. Letting them loose for Negan to see was Carl’s idea and you had loved it immediately. 

Negan got out of the car much to Simon’s disapproval. He wasted no time in swinging Lucille and killing both of the Negan-Walkers. He smashed their heads until there was nothing left but red. He turned his face back towards Alexandria, roughly wiping the blood from his face. “I’m going to kill that bitch.” 

[know-the-way]

I know it’s really stupid of me but I was kind of hoping for a redemption arc for Faustus. 😅😢

It’s not stupid, not at all! It’s natural to want to see the best in people, particularly when you believe they can be better than what they are now, so it’s completely understandable.

And, ya know, if the show gets picked up - he may have one yet still, we don’t know!

To me, this season really highlighted what the purpose of Faustus’ character is supposed to be, imo. Thinking of episode 4, we’re shown three different levels of corruption through three different characters.

The first is Harvey. Pure, sweet, golden boy Harvey is revealed to have some deep-seeded hatred of witches. Does he have any reason to hate witches? Well, let’s check - he lost a brother, got manipulated, controlled, and lied to by his first love, and has been in an endless cycle of extreme danger for the past year of his life. I think it’s fair to say we all understand that prejudice is not okay, but is it equally understandable why Harvey has some hang-ups about magic and witches? I personally think it is. (Not to the point of joining a literal witch hunt or angrily accusing your distressed best friend of killing your dad at her 17th birthday party 🙃, but understandable nonetheless.)

I personally think the intention with Harvey’s character being a cadet in Blackwood’s army was to demonstrate how, even when we believe someone to be morally good and just, they can become someone else when they endure pain and that pain is never properly addressed.

Did Sabrina apologize to Harvey for everything that happened between them? Yes. But did she repeat the same troublesome behaviors in different ways after that? Also yes. She didn’t demonstrate change in her actions, and a loootttt more happened with Harvey and the witch world in a negative way beyond his relationship with Sabrina, so the mistrust he feels isn’t entirely unjustified.

Then - “oh wow, oh my God, my second love has also hid being a witch from me, can I catch a fucking break here? Why should I ever trust another witch in my life?”

Answer: because they are humans, none being wholly good or bad, and they love you.

Roz talks to Harvey, tells him she believes he’s good, and demonstrably proves her own “goodness” by sacrificing herself to save others at Dr. C’s. Roz shows Harvey that she means what she says and her feelings for him are real - that she is a scared, broken human like him, just trying to do her best with what life has given her. Hence, when the moment of truth comes - Harvey remembers his humanity and proves his own “goodness” by saving her. But if Roz had never spoken to him, never acknowledged what he’d been through and that his feelings were valid... if no one had ever truly cared about his pain? It seems apparent that Harvey would have continued down a very dark path.

Which brings us to...

Mary. Mary has been literally murdered, had her identity hijacked by a demoness, her fiancé is dead, she doesn’t remember several months of her life, and her previous favorite student is a witch who has seemingly performed magic more than once on her.

Mary has every right to fear witches at this point. She has had zero trustworthy interactions with the witch world and from her perspective - her entire life has been stolen and no one cares. No one checks in on Mary, no one validates her pain, and as a result - no one in the witch world seems to have any compassion, humanity, or kindness in them. Enter the Pilgrims of the Night, who recognize her pain and fear without even knowing her, acknowledge it, and offer her solace in their congregation on the basis that her experience with witches is shared by the Reverend Lovecraft and his flock.

They prove themselves to her when the advice the Reverend/Faustus gives her (“let the dark in”) saves her life. My God, someone finally seems to care if she lives or dies!

People who care about others are good, so the church and the reverend’s mission must be good, too. Therefore, she is absolutely invested in whatever is asked of her and will blindly follow their lead in order to protect others from experiencing what she has. To me, Mary in the perverted universe represented the crossroads of corruption - where you truly believe what you’re doing is the right thing, even if it hurts others because those “others” have hurt you... and they will surely hurt again if you don’t stop them.

However, I think if Mary was finally told the truth - the full truth - and Lilith herself apologized for being the first piece in the puzzle... along with all the other witches... AND they showed that they actually cared about her well-being... Mary could find her way back through forgiveness. Or, at the very least, she could understand and process everything so that she could find a way to heal that doesn’t involve persecuting others.

And now, there’s Faustus. We aren’t entirely clear on Faustus’ history altogether, but we do know he’s had many experiences of being slighted by the churches of darkness (despite following the rules to a T).

He was rebuked by Edward for wanting to marry Zelda after mentoring him for who knows how many years, lost the office of high priest to him, and when he finally gets the title - here comes Edward’s self-righteous brat to fuck him over again. There he is trying to carry out the Dark Lord’s request to get Sabrina to sign her name in the Book of the Beast, even though she insults their doctrines and faith at every turn, and the coven and academy he’s had working like a well-oiled machine for the past 16 years is being slowly ripped apart. Why is the Dark Lord allowing this? Why is he having to endure a meddlesome child’s antics? Why is he not being rewarded for doing exactly as he’s been asked and returning the Church of Night to stability after Edward nearly destroyed it altogether? Like hello Dark Lord, can you throw me a fucking bone here?

Small victories - he finally secures Zelda’s hand in marriage and an audience with the anti-pope. This is what his life should’ve looked like two centuries ago, but no matter. He’s correcting it all now and by Satan, nothing is going to stop him this time.

But then...

Oh cool, Sabrina is here to intervene again and has presented the text of his old rival for consideration along with his (clearly superior) manifesto. What’s that, you say? Oh, she’s also gonna crash my wedding, accuse me of murder, and spread claims about my manifesto without having even read it? Wow, ahaha, sounds hilarious... except why am I not laughing?

He arrives in Rome and gets an inkling that the Dark Lord may finally be taking action about this heretical little monster because he’s offered the title of anti-pope by the unholy high council themselves. Finally, some appreciation! He just needs to hang on a little longer, eliminate these small meddlesome threats, and soon he will reside over a peaceful kingdom far removed from anymore mortal nonsense.

Oh, for fuck’s sake, what do you mean Sabrina convinces the council he’s unfit to be anti-pope? This is bullshit, man! You know what? Fuck this place, I’m gonna make my own damn church and ensure no other headstrong witches like Sabrina Buzzkill Spellman can ruin it. That’ll finally return things to ord- MY WIFE KEPT MY OWN CHILD A SECRET FROM ME?! WHAT THE FUCK?! Alright, that’s it, The Spellmans are clearly here to poison others (ironic foreshadowing) - time to wash my hands of them completely, I am so over thi- what’s that? The Dark Lord’s here? GOOD. About time this asshole showed up to set people straight and remind them that the values of his unholy church, which Faustus has exemplified perfectly, must be respected.

You mean for me to bow down to whom now? The halfbreed brat who has been directly and willfully wreaking havoc on the congregation he’s patiently and painstakingly lead back to greatness? Are you fucking serious, m8? No. Absolutely not. No. I’m getting out of here, and since I won’t have the little twat poison anyone else, I will literally poison them instead. Be free, sheep!

It’s up until this point that I believe Faustus was still mostly at the crossroads stage, same as Mary. He believed everything he was doing was the right thing, based on the teachings from the religion he devoted his entire life to, and that he’d be rewarded for serving the Dark Lord so faithfully - until the Dark Lord proved several times in succession that his religion was all a lie. That three+ centuries worth of groveling and abiding and waiting has meant absolutely nothing.

So now we have the Eldritch terrors. Beings more powerful than the oldest gods. He spends 15 years isolated in a time bubble purifying himself, devoting everything to them, and won’t it be so glorious when they welcome him into his ranks? He’s set them free now, after all, they owe it to him.

But doing the same action over and over and expecting a different result is what? The definition of insanity, friends. Of course the Eldritch terrors reject him, too... of course Sabrina gains their attention and veneration instead... of course he should have tried to seize their power for himself a long time ago... so, fuck it all, he’ll do that now. There is no right and wrong, there is no observed justice - if there was, he would have been rightfully recognized for all the time, effort, and pain he’s endured only to receive nothing in return.* No one ever acknowledged his pain... no one ever even considered it. Over time, that takes its toll.

(*Clearly, I mean this to be from Faustus’ perspective and not my own.)

Of course, he has inflicted more than his fair share of pain himself and I am of the personal belief he needed to pay for that, but... equally imagine being hurt over and over and watching those who did it walk away, not only without reprimand, but with the belief that they were right and just to do it? Could it slowly drain on one’s soul to watch the rules apply to some and not others? Debatable, I suppose, but I personally think yes.

So... I say all of this only to point out that there is still potential to acknowledge his pain. And thus, there is imo still potential to understand, communicate properly (I am very interested in any conversations he and Sabrina may have had during their training - I know he said she took a vow of silence, but clearly some talking occurred for Sabrina to learn so much about the void from him), grow, and finally - for him to be given the chance to repair everything he had a hand in breaking. It wouldn’t be an easy or painless task to get to that point, and no one would be faulted for not trusting him to do so, but I think there is potential for it. If they get picked up and they want to finally allow the characters some time to reflect and process shit, they could include Faustus in that.

[lencir]

( NADIA HILKER, 254, SHE/HER ) We opened the gates to the seelie court for GENEVIEVE LENOIR and we are curious to see how the VAMPIRE, that is often described as the tempest, will contribute to the new era ━ are they the hunter, or are they the prey? We will find our answers in due time and until then, we hope that they can keep their little secret from getting exposed. It could be dangerous if everyone knew what we know…

FULL NAME: genevieve lenoir

AGE: 25 (apparent), 254 (actual)

SPECIES: vampire

SEXUALITY: bisexual

BIRTH DATE: dec. 1, 1766

GENDER: cis female

PRONOUNS: she/her

HEIGHT: 5'8″

MBTI: entj, the commander

From what she can recall, Genevieve had an unremarkable childhood. Her father Henri, a French soldier, died from tuberculosis when she was twelve, and her mother, a German midwife named Syele, never remarried. She adored her brother, Félix — a boy nine years her minor with curls so much like her own. Together, they lived in an unassuming cottage in Château-Chalon, a small commune in Eastern France.

Her uncle, a hunter by trade, would visit often, feeding her love for the wilderness. From an early age, she was taught how to listen for animals, anticipate their movements, and, most importantly, shoot. By the time she was fourteen, she could easily outshoot her uncle with the beautiful red oak crossbow he’d made for her. She had the patience of an experienced hunter too, a valued asset when hunting season came around and the town required the thinning of rabbit populations. But, for Genevieve, there was more to life than killing.

It might surprise people to know that she wasn’t always the gruff, stoic figure she is today. She wanted to practice medicine with every fiber of her being and would often stay up at night practicing her stitches. Her mother would often call on Gen’s help, teaching her the skills necessary for a successful midwife. That all ended the night Syele uncharacteristically arranged for one of her patients to deliver in the Lenoir family home.

It was a difficult delivery for both mother and baby, and Syele sent Gen to fetch the village’s other midwife to aid in the delivery. She was only gone for a few minutes, having run the entire way, but she returned to a massacre. The front door had been kicked in, furniture overturned, and amongst the wreckage lay the drained bodies of the two people she loved the most. For years, there had been rumors of vampyre killings throughout Europe. Neighbors would return from travels claiming sightings and strange disappearances. It was out of curiosity-laced shock that she bothered to check… only to find small puncture wounds in the necks of each of the bodies.

Something broke in Genevieve that night. She gave herself the night to mourn and by sunrise, she abandoned her home with only a crossbow and the family’s stallion. Medicine was no longer an option.

She met her mortal end a year later at the hands of nomad clan who had caught her scent just outside of Écrille. They ambushed her horse, slipping a sack over her head and dragging her into the night. For four agonizing nights and five balmy days, Genevieve found herself locked in a cellar. The vampires’ sadistic goal was simple: to punish her. And they dealt the final blow in the form of dripping blood into a just barely conscious Genevieve’s mouth.

She tried to resist her thirst, fought against the temptation to drain the innocent they brought in to tempt her. It almost worked, until the opening of the door blew the fragrant scent she’d longed for into her nostrils.

When she awoke into her new life, the house was empty with only blood-splattered curtains to show for the temporary vampiric guests. Alone and forced to teach herself, Gen stole away to the mountains. She remained in isolation for five months, coming to grips with her newfound immortality while feeding solely on hunters who strayed too far from the village. The adjustment period was difficult and filled with bloodshed. Needless to say, her attackers didn’t survive her vigilante justice once she found them. Killing her sire was painful, but what he had taken from her was worse. She gave their followers a choice: die or join her.

The newly formed clan —named Lamoura for the lake where Gen spent her first months of vampirism— made its way through the French countryside with sights set on Paris. After all, 1792 was a great year to be a vampire, and the violence of the revolution blurred with her own reign of terror; no one had the time to notice all the missing people. She made a name for herself across Europe, becoming known as la femme sanguinaire des boucles.

Neutrality suited Gen best, so the Lamoura would never pick a side in any of the battles they joined. As a result, she attracted the most ruthless members of her kind and had no choice but to enforce order. Those were the bloodiest years, constant challenges of her authority driving her to take more lives than she would have liked. Her form of justice was strict but fair; loyalty was rewarded and betrayal of any sort was unacceptable. The ultimate betrayal being the killing of families. A husband at war? Fine. Following someone home to where they lived with their spouse and child? Banishment or worse. The latter became a less likely punishment as her reputation came to precede her.

The same is true today, which has made her stay at court… manageable. The years have certainly hardened Genevieve, shaping her into the blunt, battle-worn woman she is today. She’s indifferent to anyone she meets until proven otherwise, existing in a moral gray area. She can recognize that she has done things that others might deem distasteful but in the name of survival, who can judge?

Her sense of humor is sarcastic, her form imposing, and she generally does little to discredit assumptions made about her. She’s passionate about the causes she believes in and is willing to give anyone a chance — one chance.

It’s a misconception that she makes rash decisions, especially given her past. On the contrary, she carefully thinks through all of her moves. It’s key to how she’s been able to maintain leadership for over two centuries.

Restlessness is something that has never sat well with Gen, and it shows the longer she stays at court. Where once she was keen to bide her time, she is now coiled and ready to seize any opportunity to escape. She has always been sure in her aims, confident in her, at times, brutally selfish way of life. Like a poison seeping into her pores, the court is slowly starting to change that, and she wants out.

THE GREAT ESCAPE x someone who’s part of her clan – esp. a. someone she’s trying to recruit (she is careful about every aspect of her life, especially who she puts in her inner circle. now that she’s established, she doesn’t want any threats to her authority) b. someone who’s been in her clan for years (either a positive or begrudging relationship) ❛ This rage will lead us through the burning plains. No matter what they say, we're heroes. ❜

AIN’T NO REST FOR THE WICKED x someone with whom she crossed paths during her “bloody” period. she didn’t use much discretion at this time so anyone who knew her then l i k e l y would’ve perceived her as a strong cold bitch ❛ There ain't nothing in this world for free. Oh no, I can't slow down, I can't hold back. Though you know, I wish I could. ❜

VENUS x gen doesn’t have many longterm ties outside of those she believes can help her down the road. that said, this is someone she seriously considered changing her rule for. she has a heart??? ❛ At first I thought you were a constellation. I made a map of your stars, then I had a revelation. ❜

BANG BANG YOU’RE DEAD x she hates this person’s guts. do with it what you may, but this is someone who really makes her wish she was as vicious as the stories say. ❛ I knew all along but I was loathe to believe. There was nothing but spite, fury, and lies in the words that you weave. ❜

hey guys! i’m taylor and i’m super hype to write with all of you :) this is my sarcastic asshole gen –  feel free to like this and i’ll hit you up for plots

[imaginesbymk]

PINK + WHITE.

— CHAPTER FIVE ; TWO AWKWARD REUNIONS.

summary: teresa’s permanent resignation from the peaky blinders leads her to a whole new chapter of working in an art museum. but little did she know her best life would be butchered some time later when her former lover tommy shelby gives her no choice but to return to the peaky blinders after they make new enemies, with the leader, of all people, being the man teresa fell in love with one night after a wedding reception back in post world war; luca changretta.

pairing: luca changretta x OC x tommy shelby

tags in this chapter: swearing, smoking + drinking

[ chapter index / meet my oc / wattpad link ]

TOMMY flicked his cigarette on the ground, not that it wasn't a problem with it. The excess ash from the filter merged with coals from the factories and puddles from the rain the other night. Within weeks, Tommy was back in Small Heath and he blended in as if he had never left.

He walks in the Garrison, knowing he would see men inside drinking in the cloudy afternoon, but instead finds the pub empty except for Teresa, a woman who kept him at temporary ease and whom he once slept with after restless nights of recovering from the war, fixing herself a drink behind the counter.

She didn’t look up at him just yet, her pink lips perked up when she found her poison on one of the shelves. Same blonde hair, same attitude, same act of doing her own thing even if a man were to tell her to leave.

And to Tommy, well, he was glad to see her back, but not like this to start off such a reunion. "Who let you behind the counter?"

"I did."

"And Harry happened to be okay with that?"

"Harry went to use the men's room, but he is here, in spirit, and he approves." Teresa pours a bottle of whiskey into a glass.

"You drink nothing from my pub." He walks forward, pointing at her. "Not one drop."

"I won't be here for too long," Teresa says. "I went to visit John's grave and head over to Camden to pay Alfie Solomons. He was kind enough to help me stock gin for my guests."

"At...?"

She brings the glass to her lips. "The gallery."

Tommy stared at her after she ignored what he said about drinking his booze. Since when did Alfie negotiated in giving Teresa his alcohol? And even letting her know about his bakery? "I know why you're really here. Yet you want to walk freely around Britain knowing there's Americans scramming around this place to kill us all."

"Yes, because they would know who I am. I'm not a Peaky Blinder anymore, Tom. Not one thread of Shelby blood in me."

"These people can kill anyone who get in their way, no doubt."

"I was certain that you would tell them other people are to not be dragged into your mess." Teresa leaned over the counter when Tommy approached her closer.

"I have. But that doesn't matter anymore. Now that you're here, let's talk about what you could do for us."

"In return for?"

Tommy paused and stared up at her as he sat down in one of the chairs. "I'm paying you, Teresa. Unless it does no good for your benefit."

"It won't because I didn't come back here to help you. I told you I owe Mr. Solomons money, then I'm returning to Penarth. The gallery can't run on its own, y'know?" Teresa takes out her silver case from her handbag and places a cigarette in her mouth.

Still as the instinct to do so, Tommy took his lighter from his coat pocket and ignited the flame, lighting the end for Teresa to take a drag from. "I can understand why you left."

"Then why of all people would you want my help? Aberama Gold wasn't enough?" Teresa blew out smoke. The tobacco was going to leave a bitter aftertaste for her as she hasn't smoked in a while. 

"I'm already helping Aberama Gold in return. His son aspires in boxing, and there's a boxing match coming soon between him and Alfie's nephew." 

"Seriously, Tom. The stench of Small Heath is gonna make me lose my appetite."

"Am I to assume you don't want to help because you couldn't stand being here?"

"I would help if the circumstances were different," Teresa sipped her drink.

And yes, Tommy had to smoke another cigarette. And so he did. "We need you, Teresa."

"Never thought you'd say that again," Teresa chuckled and exited the counter to take the seat in front of him. "You don't need my help. What are the Italians gonna do with me?"

Other than throw the leader off guard, is someone who would last want to see a familiar old face? "You're a decoy, remember?" Tommy clears his throat while tapping ashes off the filter. "It worked every time. Who wouldn't mind negotiating with you?"

"I'm more than just a pretty face," Teresa comments.

"Your pretty face landed you a job as a gallery owner."

She scoffs. "And so did my full time studies on business and art history, you bloody twat." Sometimes, Teresa wished men like Tommy knew better than underestimating people, as well as misunderstanding them. Why else was John assassinated otherwise? Even Grace?

Tommy stared at his old lover. "Teresa, you are our last hope."

Teresa stared back. The pub was silent now that they could hear a pin drop on the floor. "Tommy, if you promise me nothing will happen, then tell me what needs to be done. And then I go back home. I'll do this for the sake of John." And she leaned back in her chair, queuing Tommy to explain her part. Teresa processed it and listened, feeling like she was back as a Blinder.

SHE balanced her footing on her heeled boots once stepping out of her chauffeur's car. Camden was indeed a town she has yet to visit more often. The first time, she was only halfway completed her first semester of college, and she raced to the docks in tears after her first heartbreak. Teresa looks back at that time and laughs about it, remembering that guy had such awful breath and he barely spoke about what she was into.

Alfie Solomons' bakery was kept in a bricked factory, and she would need to go out back in order for the guard at the door to let her in. But when she walked up the rusty steps, she didn't see the familiar man when she last came. In fact, nobody was even there to keep watch of the back entrance.

With a swift tug on the rusty metal, Teresa let herself in.

"Okay," Luca sighs, impatient and utterly exhausted. He was at a peak of his tolerance to Alfie Solomons as he had unnecessarily dragged on the deal involving cash and such requests out of one's mind. Alfie was always the kind of man to get under people's skin and make mockeries, even as to being too unpredictable and quick to think: if Luca hadn't agreed to it, none of his men would be allowed entry to the boxing ring under the watch of Alfie himself at the upcoming match. "Any other requests? Two hundred fucking barrels. We have a deal."

Alfie made an unsure face, shifting a bit in his seat.

"What's the matter? I said we have a deal."

"You just made a deal without negotiation, did ya?" Alfie pointed out. Luca shrugged and nodded, not even slightly remorseful about the unjust action. "Yeah, Tommy Shelby was right about you. Ir vilt hargenen undz ale men." And he made a tsk sound with his teeth, smirking up at the Italian. "You plan to kill us all," he translates.

Luca's voice lowered much more snake-like and sinister. Alfie wasn't wrong about that. He's almost never wrong about anything. "So what if I plan on doing that? Would you, Mr. Solomons, have what it takes to hand over your business to me?"

"That's like handing my child over to a grizzly bear using their paws to comfort them."

"It’s not like you don’t got paws, too.”

“Of a mother bear.”

“Then I suggest you don’t compare me to a wild animal, Mr. Solomons. I know I'm gonna make a great father one day," Luca points out. "Like I said, you really are a smart guy. But I can be just as smart as you."

Alfie made a sarcastic sound as if he was agreeing. "Smart enough to kill me, take my business, and enjoy nice victory over the busy tides where you reside. That fits you to a tee." Suddenly, like a dog, Alfie picked up on the sounds of shoes echoing from his bakery, growing closer and closer. He shifted his body to see who had the audacity to just invite themselves in. Luca did the same just as Matteo from behind drew his gun.

Alfie let out a tiny smile of relief when he was greeted with a familiar person, a person whom Luca was definitely familiar with, too. But he was not smiling. 

Teresa's clinking boots faded in the main floor until she finally appeared under the dim light. "Hope you don't mind me walking in. There was no one at the door to search me."

The match stick in Luca's mouth nearly fell out when his jaw dropped.

No fucking way.

+ ohhhhhhhhh shit. that's all i have to say.

[aeon-warden]

Also Sprach Saitama

Hereby I picked some quotes from Thus Spoke Zarathustra,  most of which can describe both Saitama and Garou. They're like the two sides of a same coin, or rather, two polarities of the concept Übermensch. There are also expressions that seem to suit Genos, King and other characters. All these similarities even made me wonder if ONE is or was a fan of Nietzsche, thouth the theme of One-Punch Man appears to be against Nietzschean philosophy – the path of superiority leads to dullness only.

[First Part]

>>Zarathustra's Prologue

"Go away from this town, oh Zarathustra," he said. "Too many here hate you.

The good and the just hate you and they call you their enemy and despiser;

the believers of the true faith hate you and they call you the danger of the multitude."

Saitama.

>> The Speeches of Zarathustra

8.On the Tree on the Mountain

I'm changing too fast. My today contradicts my yesterday. I often skip steps when I climb – no step forgives me that.

If I am at the top then I always find myself alone. No one speaks with me, the frost of loneliness makes me shiver. What do I want in the heights?

How ashamed I am of my climbing and stumbling! How I mock my violent panting!HowI hate the flying one!Howweary I amin the heights!”

Here the young man fell silent. And Zarathustra regarded the tree at which they stood and spoke thus:

"This tree stands here lonely on the mountain; it grew high beyond humans and animals.

And if it wanted to speak, it would have no one who understood it: so high it grew.

Now it waits and waits – but for what does it wait? It lives too near the clouds’ abode: it waits for the first lightning bolt?”

When Zarathustra had said this the young man cried out, gesturing agitatedly: “Yes, Zarathustra, youspeak the truth. I longed for my destruction when I aspired to the heights, and you are the lightning for which I waited! Look, what am I anymore, now that you have appeared among us! It is my envy of you that has destroyed me!” – Thus spoke the young man and he wept bitterly. But Zarathustra put his arm around him and led him away.

And after they had walked together for a while Zarathustra started speaking thus:

"It tears my heart apart. Better than your words can say, your eyes tell me all your danger. You are still not free, you seek freedom. Your seeking made you sleepdeprived and over-awake.

You aspire to the free heights, your soul thirsts for the stars. But your wicked instincts also thirst for freedom.

Your wild dogs want to get free; they bark with joy in their cellar when your spirit contrives to liberate all prisons.

To me you are still a prisoner who plots his freedom. Alas, the soul of such prisoners grows clever, but also deceptive and rotten.

The one who is free of spirit must still purify himself. Much prison

and mold is left in him: his eyes must still become pure.

Yes, I know your danger. But by my love and hope I beseech you: do not throw away your love and hope!

Saitama and Genos. They discovered each other, and they saved each other, from their own lasting loneliness and obsession with vengeance. For Genos especially, Saitama is "the lightning for which I waited”.

12.  On the Flies of the Market Place

Flee, my friend, into your solitude! I see you dazed by the noise of the great men and stung by the stings of the little.

...

Where solitude ends, there begins the market place; and where the market place begins, there begins too the noise of the great actors and the buzzing of poisonous flies.

...

The people little understand what is great, that is: the creator. But they have a sense for all performers and actors of great things.

The world revolves around the inventors of new values: – it revolves invisibly. But the people and fame revolve around actors: thus is the course of the world.

...

Flee, my friend, into your solitude: I see you stung by poisonous flies.Flee where raw, strong air blows!

Flee into your solitude! You have lived too long near the small and the pitiful. Flee their invisible revenge! Against you they are nothing but revenge.

Do not raise your arm against them anymore! They are innumerable, and it is not your lot to be a shoo-fly.

Innumerable are these small and pitiful ones; and rain drops and weeds have sufficed to bring down many a proud structure.

You are no stone, but already you have become hollowfrom many drops. You will shatter and burst still from many drops.

I see you weary from poisonous flies, torn bloody in a hundred places, and yet your pride does not even become angered.

They want blood from you in all innocence, their bloodless souls demand blood – and so they sting away in all innocence.

But you, deep one, you suffer too deeply even from small wounds; and before you could even heal yourself, the same poisonous worm crawled across your hand.

You are too proud to slay these sweet-toothed creatures. But beware, or it will become your doom to bear all their poisonous injustice!

They also buzz around you with their praise; importunity is their

praising! They want the closeness of your skin and your blood.

They flatter you like a god or devil; they snivel before you as before a god or devil. What's the use! They are sycophants and snivelers and nothing more.

Often too they give themselves charming airs. But that has always been the cleverness of cowards; yes, cowards are clever!

They think about you much with their narrow souls – you always give them pause! Everything that is thought about much gives pause.

They punish you for all your virtues. What they forgive you thoroughly are only – your mistakes.

Because you are mild and of just temperament, you say: “They are not guilty of their petty existence.” But their narrow souls think: “All great existence is guilty.”

Even when you are mild toward them they still feel despised by you; and they repay your benefaction with hidden malefactions.

Saitama.

17.  On the Way of the Creator

Today you suffer still from the many, you lonely one: for today you still have your courage and your hopes intact.

But one day solitude will make you weary, one day your pride will cringe and your courage will gnash its teeth. One day you will cry "I am alone!"

...

Injustice and filth they throw at the lonely one. But my brother, if you want to be a star then you must shine through for them all the more!

And beware of the good and the just! They like to crucify those who invent their own virtue – they hate the lonely one.

...

But the worst enemy whom you can encounter will always be yourself; you ambush yourself in caves and woods.

Lonely one, you go the way to yourself! And past you yourself leads your way and past your seven devils!

To your own self you will be heretic and witch and soothsayer and fool and doubter and unholy man and villain.

You must want to burn yourself up in your own flame: how could you become new if you did not first become ashes!

Lonely one, you go the way of the creator: you will create yourself a god out of your seven devils!

The hero for fun has been alone, and so as his only disciple. But they have each other.

Genos was once among the ashes. Through the flame of vegeance, he was born anew.

19. On the Adder's Bite

I do not like your cold justice; and from the eyes of your judges gazes always the executioner and his cold steel.

Tell me, where is the justice found that is love with seeing eyes?

Then invent me the kind of love that not only bears all punishment but also all guilt!

Then invent me the kind of justice that pardons everyone, except the one who judges!

Garou.

22. On the Bestowing Virtue

One repays a teacher badly if one always remains a pupil only. And why would you not want to pluck at my wreath?

You revere me, but what if your reverence falls down some day? Beware that you are not killed by a statue!

You say you believe in Zarathustra? But whatmatters Zarathustra! You are my believers, but what matter all believers!

You had not yet sought yourselves, then you found me. All believers do this; that’s why all faith amounts to so little.

Now I bid you lose me and find yourselves; and only when you have all denied me will I return to you.

Indeed, with different eyes, my brothers, will I then seek my lost ones; with a different love will I love you then.

Like Zarathustra, Saitama does not care too much about believers. He may act a bit jealousy on Genos’s fans, but after all, he's not doing hero’s job for fame.

[Second Part]

34. On Self-Overcoming

And as the smaller gives way to the greater, in order for it to have its pleasure and power over the smallest, so too the greatest gives way, and for the sake of power it risks – life itself.

That is the giving-way of the greatest, that it is a risk and a danger and a tossing of dice unto death.

Mumen Rider, and all the heroes who risk their lives for the people.

[Third Part]

53. The Homecoming

And that among human beings you will always be wild and foreign.

Wild and foreign even when they love you; for what they want above all is to be spared!

……

And when they misjudged me, I, fool, spared them more than myself, since I am accustomed to hardness, and often I even took revenge on myself for being so sparing.

Covered in bites by poisonous flies and hollowed out, like a stone, by many drops of malice, I sat among them and still I told myself: “Everything small is innocent of its smallness!”

Saitama.

[Fourth and Final Part]

65. The Magician

"Who are you!" yelled the old magician at this point, with defiance in his voice. “Who is permitted to speak with me thus, the greatest person living today?” – and an emerald bolt of lightning shot from his eye toward Zarathustra. But then he transformed immediately and said sadly:

"Oh Zarathustra, I am weary of and nauseated by my arts, I am not great, why do I pretend! But, you know it well – I sought greatness! I wanted to represent a great human being and I persuaded many; but this lie was beyond my powers. On it I break down.

Oh Zarathustra, everything about me is a lie; but that I am breaking down – this breaking down is genuine!" –

"It does you honor," spoke Zarathustra somberly and glancing down to the side, "it does you honor that you sought greatness, but it also betrays you. You are not great."

King.

68. The Voluntary Beggar

"What happened to me?" he asked himself,  "something warmand lively refreshes me, something that must be close to me.

Already I am less alone; unknown companions and brothers roam around me, their warm breath touches on my soul."

Genos, Silver Fang, King, Mumen Rider, Fubuki, Tatsumaki... Did those people who appeared in Saitama’s life ever alleviated his boredness and loneliness, even for just a little bit? 

69. The Shadow

But after you, oh Zarathustra, I've flown and followed longest, and even when I concealedmyself from you, I was still your best shadow: wherever you sat, I sat too.

With you I have haunted the remotest, coldest worlds, like a ghost that runs voluntarily over winter rooftops and snow.

With you I strived to enter everything forbidden, worst, remotest; and if anything of mine is a virtue, then it is that I have feared no ban.

With you I smashed anything my heart ever honored, I overthrew all boundary stones and images, I pursued the most dangerous wishes – indeed, I have passed over every crime once.

With you I unlearned my faith in words and values and great names.

When the devil sheds his skin, does his name not fall off too? For it too is skin. Perhaps the devil himself is – skin.

'Nothing is true, all is permitted': thus I persuaded myself. I plunged into the coldest waters, with head and heart.

Genos.

You poor roamer and raver, you weary butterfly! Do you want to have a rest and a home this evening? Then go up to my cave!

There leads the path to my cave. And now I have to run away from you quickly again. Already it's as though I'm covered in shadow.

I want to run alone, so that things clear up around me again. For that I'll yet have to be long on my legs and like it.

Saitama.

73. On the Higher Man

Is this today not of the rabble? But rabble does not know what is great, what is small, what is straight and honest: it is innocently crooked, it always lies.

Tanktop Tiger and Tanktop Black Hole. And all those who questioned Saitama’s integrity.

[starstruckteacup]

Cottagecore Films (pt. 9)

Classic Disney Edition - Original Princess Trio!

Snow White and the Seven Dwarves (1937)

starring Adriana Caselotti, Lucille La Verne, Pinto Colvig, Roy Atwell, Otis Harlan, Billy Gilbert, Scotty Matraw, Eddie Collins, Harry Stockwell

A young and beautiful princess, Snow White, grows up under the threatening watch of her stepmother, the Evil Queen. One day, the Queen’s Magic Mirror tells her that she is no longer the fairest in the land, but that Snow White is. Enraged and jealous, the Queen orders her huntsman to kill Snow White, but at the last moment, he is unable to strike. Snow White flees into the woods, and soon arrives at the cozy home of the local dwarves. When the dwarves return from work, they are terrified to discover that someone has been in their house. However, when they meet Snow White, they are immediately taken by her kindness and allow her to stay. The group celebrates with dinner and a small party, but their bliss doesn’t last for long. When the dwarves leave again for work in the morning, Snow White encounters a mysterious old woman--unbeknownst to her, it’s the Evil Queen in disguise--selling apples, who cons her way into the dwarves’ home and gives Snow White a poison apple. When the dwarves find her, they believe her to be dead, and place her in a gold and glass coffin. It seems that all is lost, but true love has other plans.

I’ve seen this movie many times, and as a kid I actually really disliked it. I thought Snow White was a passive and boring character, but on this watch-through I was surprised by how poorly I interpreted her previously. Snow White is a 14 year old girl, but packs such bravery as could rival any Prince Charming. She’s still very clearly a child though, with her innocence, positivity, and unjaded outlook. She puts others’ needs before her own constantly and always finds the good in everyone. She’s still naive though, which is clear from her open interaction with the old woman/Evil Queen, despite knowing that her life was in danger if the Queen found her. After she escapes death by the huntsman’s blade, she runs panicked through the forest, with everything mutating into horrors around her, just as a young, frightened girl would. She’s immediately comforted by the animals afterward, which is reflective of how readily young people can bounce back from trauma. The Evil Queen was also a lot darker than I recall. I was terrified of her as a kid, but I’m still terrified as an adult for an entirely new set of reasons. What kind of woman tries to kill a child over beauty, then celebrates that she’ll be buried alive after eating the poison apple? That kind of coldness and brutality is absolutely horrifying, even now. She may be the most dangerous and genuinely evil Disney villain in history, and she was the very first. 7/10

Cinderella (1950)

starring Ilene Woods, Eleanor Audley, Verna Felton, Lucille Bliss, Rhoda Williams, James MacDonald

When Cinderella’s father passes away, she’s left with her vain, greedy, and cruel stepmother, Lady Tremaine, and two stepsisters, Anastasia and Drizella. She works as their scullery maid every day, until an urgent message from the King arrives. The castle will host a ball for the prince to meet an eligible maiden, and she quickly organizes the chateau and dons the dress her animal friends made for her, hoping to at least attend the ball. However, just as they are about to leave, the stepsisters destroy her dress, dashing her dreams. As she weeps, her fairy godmother appears, dressing her magnificently and creating a splendid carriage for her. She arrives at the ball, catching the undivided attention of the prince (unbeknownst to her), with whom she spends the rest of the night dancing. She nearly loses track of time as the clock tolls midnight; as she flees the castle, she drops her glass slipper, and narrowly escapes the king’s guards. The next day, the Grand Duke visits every maiden in the kingdom, trying the slipper on every one in hope of finding who it belongs to. At long last, he reaches Cinderella’s home, but the slipper breaks due to the interference of Lady Tremaine. As if by destiny, Cinderella has the other slipper, and she lives happily ever after with her Prince Charming.

There’s a reason why this is the classic Disney movie. It’s full of charm and elegance, and it’s impossible to not empathize with Cinderella. Although it’s not as apparent by the unrealistic standards we set for modern-day female characters, Cinderella is actually an incredibly rounded character, and deserves more credit than she gets. She’s a strongly but subtly witty and sassy young woman, yet is never lacking in infallible patience and kindness. She makes a variety of sly remarks to her animal friends about her situation, only to provide some levity and not become depressed and traumatized, as many of us would in her situation, but she is never harsh or cruel. She sees the world for what it is and for what it could be, and never loses hope that things will turn out well for her one day. This film has possibly the most romantic lyrical soundtrack, with “So This is Love” and “A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes” outshining almost any Disney love song to date. When you hear these songs, you fall a little in love too. This film has an impeccable focus on true love, but despite its fantasy setting it feels more real and attainable than it does on the surface. Cinderella doesn’t even know she’s dancing with the prince, but she knows she’s in love, and that’s all that matters. (Also it took me literally years of watching this movie to finally pick up that she didn’t know he was the prince, oops.) Love doesn’t have contingencies, and that’s a beautiful thing. 9/10

Sleeping Beauty (1959)

starring Mary Costa, Bill Shirley, Eleanor Audley, Verna Felton, Barbara Luddy, Barbara Jo Allen

At the infant Princess Aurora’s christening, three fairies--Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather--arrive to bless her with three magical gifts. Flora bestows upon her incredible beauty, and Fauna gifts her with a beautiful voice. Before Merryweather can share her gift, the diabolical fairy Maleficent appears, insulted that she was unwanted by the court. She curses the child to prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and die before her 16th birthday. Merryweather uses her gift to amend the curse so that Aurora will only fall into a deep sleep, to be awakened by true love’s kiss. To prevent this from happening, the three fairies hide her in the woods, where they will remain as peasants until her 16th birthday passes. On her birthday, Aurora meets a handsome stranger, whom she falls in love with. When she returns home to share the news with the fairies, they break the news that not only is she already betrothed, but that they will to the castle that very evening. Before the sun sets, however, Maleficent tricks Aurora into pricking her finger, and she falls into the deathlike slumber. The stranger in the woods, who in actuality is Prince Phillip and Aurora’s betrothed, arrives at the cottage to meet her, where he is captured by Maleficent. She takes him to the Forbidden Mountain, but he quickly breaks out and battles with Maleficent as a fearsome dragon. Felling her, he rushes to Aurora’s side. With true love’s kiss, the curse is lifted, and the entire kingdom awakens.

As the third film in the Disney Princess lineage, Sleeping Beauty shows a remarkable evolution of design and artistic prowess. Snow White and Cinderella are both stunning, but the artists in this film take the backgrounds to a new, fantastical, and ethereal realm. This world is sewn together with magic, and it really comes through in the art. The music is also far more enchanting and romantic as a whole. The instrumental scores are breathtaking and truly immerse the audience in the magic of this world. There were certainly fewer lyrical numbers in this movie, but “Once Upon a Dream” is such a wonderful love song that walks the audience through Aurora’s youthful naivety and its evolution into realistic love. In my opinion, it’s nearly incomparable to the rest of Disney’s musical repertoire as well. Without question, Prince Phillip is Disney’s greatest and most heroic prince. He’s brave, steadfast, and honorable, and shows he will go to any length for the woman he loves. What other prince fights against a demonic dragon to save someone he just met the day before? That’s right, none. There may be more well-rounded princes, especially as we get toward his more modern counterparts, but very few have shown that they are willing to risk their lives or livelihood for the wellbeing of a loved one. With Aurora, on the other hand, I think Disney could have done better. She’s actually a rather shallow character; all we know about her is that she is beautiful, melodious, and imaginative, but we don’t know anything real about her personality. We don’t know what makes her feel good or bad about anything. We briefly see her response when her dreams are dashed, but even that isn’t as thoroughly expounded upon as other princesses are. The film also doesn’t give enough credit to the distress the huge reveal of her royal lineage causes. In other films, the princesses have real, gut-wrenching reactions to serious situations that are thrown their way, but Aurora isn’t given that depth. This may be one of my favorite movies, but it doesn’t quite hold up to many other Disney films. Also Maleficent is the best villain of all, and no I won’t take any criticisms. 7/10

Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Part Five // Part Six // Part Seven // Part Eight

[thestreamofconsciousness777]

As for me, when they became ill, my clothing was sackcloth, with fasting I afflicted my soul, and upon my bosom my own prayer would return...  

“The word that occurred to Jeremiah from Jehovah, saying: “Stand in the gate of the house of Jehovah, and you must proclaim there this word, and you must say, ‘Hear the word of Jehovah, all YOU of Judah, who are entering into these gates to bow down to Jehovah. This is what Jehovah of armies, the God of Israel, has said: “Make YOUR ways and YOUR dealings good, and I will keep YOU people residing in this place. Do not put YOUR trust in fallacious words, saying, ‘The temple of Jehovah, the temple of Jehovah, the temple of Jehovah they are!’ For if YOU will positively make YOUR ways and YOUR dealings good, if YOU will positively carry out justice between a man and his companion, if no alien resident, no fatherless boy and no widow YOU will oppress, and innocent blood YOU will not shed in this place, and after other gods YOU will not walk for calamity to yourselves, I, in turn, shall certainly keep YOU residing in this place, in the land that I gave to YOUR forefathers, from time indefinite even to time indefinite.”’”

“Here YOU are putting YOUR trust in fallacious words—it will certainly be of no benefit at all. Can there be stealing, murdering and committing adultery and swearing falsely and making sacrificial smoke to Ba’al and walking after other gods whom YOU had not known, and must YOU come and stand before me in this house upon which my name has been called, and must YOU say, ‘We shall certainly be delivered,’ in the face of doing all these detestable things? Has this house upon which my name has been called become a mere cave of robbers in YOUR eyes? Here I myself also have seen [it],” is the utterance of Jehovah.

“‘However, GO, now, to my place that was in Shi’loh, where I caused my name to reside at first, and see what I did to it because of the badness of my people Israel. And now for the reason that YOU kept doing all these works,’ is the utterance of Jehovah, ‘and I kept speaking to YOU, getting up early and speaking, but YOU did not listen, and I kept calling YOU, but YOU did not answer, I will do also to the house upon which my name has been called, in which YOU are trusting, and to the place that I gave to YOU and to YOUR forefathers, just as I did to Shiʹloh. And I will throw YOU out from before my face, just as I threw out all YOUR brothers, the whole offspring of E’phra·im.’

“And as for you, do not pray in behalf of this people, neither raise in their behalf an entreating cry or a prayer nor beseech me, for I shall not be listening to you. Are you not seeing what they are doing in the cities of Judah and in the streets of Jerusalem? The sons are picking up sticks of wood, and the fathers are lighting the fire, and the wives are kneading flour dough in order to make sacrificial cakes to the ‘queen of the heavens’; and there is a pouring out of drink offerings to other gods for the purpose of offending me. ‘Is it I whom they are offending?’ is the utterance of Jehovah. ‘Is it not they themselves, for the purpose of shame to their faces?’ Therefore this is what the Sovereign Lord Jehovah has said, ‘Look! My anger and my rage are being poured forth upon this place, upon mankind and upon domestic animal, and upon the tree of the field and upon the fruitage of the ground; and it must burn, and it will not be extinguished.’

“This is what Jehovah of armies, the God of Israel, has said, ‘Add those whole burnt offerings of YOURS to YOUR sacrifices and eat flesh. For I did not speak with YOUR forefathers, nor did I command them in the day of my bringing them out from the land of Egypt concerning the matters of whole burnt offering and sacrifice. But this word I did express in command upon them, saying: “Obey my voice, and I will become YOUR God, and YOU yourselves will become my people; and YOU must walk in all the way that I shall command YOU, in order that it may go well with YOU.”’ But they did not listen, neither did they incline their ear, but they went walking in the counsels in the stubbornness of their bad heart, so that they became backward in direction and not forward, from the day that YOUR forefathers came forth out of the land of Egypt until this day; and I kept sending to YOU all my servants the prophets, daily getting up early and sending [them]. But they did not listen to me, and they did not incline their ear, but they kept hardening their neck. They acted worse than their forefathers!

“And you must speak to them all these words, but they will not listen to you; and you must call to them, but they will not answer you. And you must say to them, ‘This is the nation whose people have not obeyed the voice of Jehovah its God, and have not taken discipline. Faithfulness has perished, and it has been cut off from their mouth.’

“Shear off your uncut hair and throw [it] away, and upon the bare hills raise a dirge, for Jehovah has rejected and will desert the generation with which he is furious. ‘For the sons of Judah have done what is bad in my eyes,’ is the utterance of Jehovah. ‘They have set their disgusting things in the house upon which my name has been called, in order to defile it. And they have built the high places of To’pheth, which is in the valley of the son of Hin’nom, in order to burn their sons and their daughters in the fire, a thing that I had not commanded and that had not come up into my heart.’

“‘Therefore, look! days are coming,’ is the utterance of Jehovah, ‘when it will no more be said [to be] To’pheth and the valley of the son of Hin’nom, but the valley of the killing; and they will have to bury in To’pheth without there being enough place. And the dead bodies of this people must become food for the flying creatures of the heavens and for the beasts of the earth, with nobody to make [them] tremble. And I will cause to cease from the cities of Judah and from the streets of Jerusalem the voice of exultation and the voice of rejoicing, the voice of the bridegroom and the voice of the bride; for the land will become nothing but a devastated place.’”

“At that time,” is the utterance of Jehovah, “people will also bring forth the bones of the kings of Judah and the bones of its princes and the bones of the priests and the bones of the prophets and the bones of the inhabitants of Jerusalem from their graves. And they will actually spread them out to the sun and to the moon and to all the army of the heavens that they have loved and that they have served and that they have walked after and that they have sought and that they have bowed down to. They will not be gathered, nor will they be buried. As manure upon the face of the ground they will become.”

“And death will certainly be chosen rather than life on the part of all the remnant of those remaining out of this bad family in all the places of the remaining ones, where I will have dispersed them,” is the utterance of Jehovah of armies.

“And you must say to them, ‘This is what Jehovah has said: “Will they fall and not get up again? If one would turn back, will the other not also turn back? Why is it that this people, Jerusalem, is unfaithful with an enduring unfaithfulness? They have taken hold of trickiness; they have refused to turn back. I have paid attention, and I kept listening. It was not right the way they kept speaking. There was not a man repenting over his badness, saying, ‘What have I done?’ Each one is going back into the popular course, like a horse that is dashing into the battle. Even the stork in the heavens—it well knows its appointed times; and the turtledove and the swift and the bulbul—they observe well the time of each one’s coming in. But as for my people, they have not come to know the judgment of Jehovah.”’

“‘How can YOU men say: “We are wise, and the law of Jehovah is with us”? Surely, now, the false stylus of the secretaries has worked in sheer falsehood. The wise ones have become ashamed. They have become terrified and will be caught. Look! They have rejected the very word of Jehovah, and what wisdom do they have? Therefore I shall give their wives to other men, their fields to those taking possession; for, from the least one even to the greatest one, each one is making unjust gain; from the prophet even to the priest, each one is acting falsely. And they try to heal the breakdown of the daughter of my people lightly, saying: “There is peace! There is peace!” when there is no peace. Did they feel shame because they had done even what was detestable? For one thing, they positively could not feel ashamed; for another thing, they did not know even how to feel humiliated. “‘Therefore they will fall among those who are falling. In the time of their being given attention, they will stumble,’ Jehovah has said.

“‘When doing the gathering, I shall bring them to their finish,’ is the utterance of Jehovah. ‘There will be no grapes on the vine, and there will be no figs on the fig tree, and the foliage itself will certainly wither. And things that I give to them will pass by them.’”

“Why are we sitting still? Gather yourselves together, and let us enter into the fortified cities and be silent there. For Jehovah our God has himself put us to silence, and he gives us poisoned water to drink, because we have sinned against Jehovah. There was a hoping for peace, but no good [came]; for a time of healing, but, look! terror! From Dan has been heard the snorting of his horses. Due to the sound of the neighing of his stallions the whole land has begun to rock. And they come in and eat up the land and what fills it, the city and its inhabitants.”

“For here I am sending in among YOU serpents, poisonous snakes, for which there is no charming, and they will certainly bite YOU,” is the utterance of Jehovah.

A grief that is beyond curing has come up into me. My heart is ill. Here there is the sound of the cry for help of the daughter of my people from a land far away: “Is Jehovah not in Zion? Or is her king not in her?” “Why is it that they have offended me with their graven images, with their vain foreign gods?”

“The harvest has passed, the summer has come to an end; but as for us, we have not been saved!”

Over the breakdown of the daughter of my people I have become shattered. I have grown sad. Outright astonishment has seized hold of me. Is there no balsam in Gil’e·ad? Or is there no healer there? Why is it, then, that the recuperation of the daughter of my people has not come up?

-Jeremiah 7 & 8, NWT

MURDERING: US Congresswoman Betty McCollum Denounces Israel's 'State-Sponsored Killing' of Palestinian Child

[spacedrawn]

Cruel fate

Prompt: A night of films and drinking leads to confessions and promises that couldn’t be fulfilled

Warnings: angst leading to fluff, suicide mentions, blood, general stuff relating to Mark before the events of WKM

DT: @illys-bitch (there are not enough Actor mark fics so I delivered >:] also a sorta previous fic of their fic that can be found here but tbfh they can be read separately)

-

Things were spiralling downward so quickly.

Mark let out a shrill yell as he threw the now empty bottle against the wall. He shook, fury and rage rushing through him. He growled and stormed over to the bottle, picking up the piece that didn’t break near the top. He barred his teeth, lifting the bottle high above his head.

But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t. Mark let out a sob as he collapsed to his knees, the bottle dropping. He didn’t care that was he now sitting in broken glass shards or that they were digging into his skin. He didn’t care. Why would he? The manor wouldn’t let him die so it didn’t matter.

He trembled, gripping at his hair. Mark wanted out. God he wanted out so badly. But the cursed manor never let him.

Stabbing, hanging, cutting, shooting, falling, poison, overdose. He’d tried all of it and more. But nothing. Nothing worked. Nothing got him out of this hell. This endless loop of killing himself only to be revived.

Mark trembled before letting out a pained cry. Why couldn’t he just die?!

The sound of the nearby phone ringing brought him out of his thoughts. He looked over, staring at it. He then shakily stood and walked over. His bloody hand paused before taking hold of the phone. Mark took a moment to recollect himself before pulling it up and to his ear.

“Hello~ Who’s calling me at such a late hour?” How could he act so calm despite everything? Perhaps the manor was doing it. Or perhaps he just didn’t want whoever was on the other end to worry. For now he didn’t care. Mark quietly listened before perking up at the sound of a familiar voice.

“Ah! My dearest friend. So glad to hear your voice. Yes yes, you can come over tonight. I’ll make sure the butler has everything in order. Shall we watch a movie or two?” Mark asked. Spencer, the one on the line, was perhaps the only bit of sunshine he had left. He knew he loved her. Oh he did.

He’d realized his love for her some time after Celine left. He’d worried she was simply a rebound love but he’d quickly come to realize that wasn’t the case. Oh how Mark loves Spencer. But even though she warmed his heart, it didn’t chase the dark clouds for long.

He smiled warmly as he listened. “Of course. I’ll see you soon friend.” He purred softly before hanging up. Mark sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He looked around at the room and huffed. He then picked up the phone and dialled for the butler.

“Yes, afternoon Benjamin. I need you to clean up my room and have the theatre ready for later tonight. Spencer is coming over and I want things to be nice and proper. Yes yes I know my habits aren’t good but that’s not the point. Simply come upstairs and clean the mess in my room first.” Mark spoke. He let the butler give confirmation before hanging up.

He grabbed the towel off the nearby rack where it usually rested before heading into the attached bathroom. He had to clean up and make sure he’d look presentable.

Once inside the washroom, he undressed. Before entering the shower though, his reflection caught his eye. Mark glared at the sight of the wounds as they slowly healed. Curse the manor and its ability to heal wounds faster than he can deal them. He grumbled and stepped into the shower.

~

The sound downstairs of the door opening made him perk up. He smiled and happily exited his room before proceeding down the stairs. He could already see his good friend standing there, waiting for him. Mark took a moment to simply observe and admire her. Oh how he loved Spencer even though he’d probably never admit it.

He cleared his throat as he finished going down the stairs. “Spencer! A pleasure to see you tonight. I’m glad you arrived safely.” He spoke and gently shook the other’s hand. He then looked to Benjamin. “Butler! Please, fetch us some drinks and food and bring them to the theatre.” The other nodded and quickly went to get the items requested.

Mark then led the way to the theatre, smiling. “I’m glad you could make it dear friend. I must say you look absolutely wonderful. You always do but tonight you’ve outdone yourself.” He spoke, feeling his heart race as the other’s cheeks flushed. He felt proud of being able to do that.

He opened the door to the theatre and let Spencer in first. “After you~” Mark purred and followed suit.

Perhaps for tonight, he could really let himself enjoy things.

~

The rest of the night was filled with Spencer and Mark watching films, drinking, and eating food. By now it was late and the staff had gone home. The only two left were Mark and Spencer. The two were a giggling mess in the theatre, two and a half bottles of wine nearby. What they were giggling about they couldn’t tell. They just knew they were happy.

Spencer sighed as she calmed down, chuckling. She looked to Mark and took a moment to simply admire him. She couldn’t lie and say she didn’t like the actor. Even so, she was unsure of saying this. Spencer didn’t know if Mark still loved Celine.

Even so, she found herself with an insatiable urge to pull Mark in and kiss him. She was pulled from their thoughts as Mark spoke up. “You know... I haven’t felt this happy in a long time. For that I thank you Spencer. You’ve been with me through so much pain and heartache.” He spoke, smiling at her.

Spencer’s hand twitched before shifting to gently move to the back of Mark’s neck. She wasn’t sure if she were doing this because the two of them were drunk or what. Maybe she hoped she could get one kiss and then have Mark not remember it the day after. Speaking of whom, the actor was quietly staring at Spencer. There was an almost hopeful look to his eyes.

Mark was the one to close the distance, gently kissing Spencer. He was gentle and it was obvious he was giving the other a chance to pull away. But she didn’t. The hand at the back of Mark’s neck shifted to gently grip the red robe. She gently tugged him closer as her other hand set their empty glasses of wine aside.

The actor’s hands shifted to gently bring Spencer closer, the wine glasses forgotten. He could feel his heart racing in his chest and he wondered if the other could tell. Mark felt all his worries and anger seep away as the kiss continued. He felt beyond relieved Spencer returned his feelings.

The kiss was broken a moment later as the two pulled away. They pressed their foreheads together, taking a moment to collect themselves.

Spencer spoke first. “You know. When I came here tonight I didn’t think I’d get the courage to kiss you. Now look at us.” She chuckled warmly before letting out a relieved sigh. “I’ve loved you for so long Mark. I just never got the chance to say it.”

The actor laughed a bit before replying. “And I you. For a while I thought you were a rebound yet...the more I realized it the more it became apparent. My love for you isn’t a rebound. I...I really do care about you.” Mark smiled at her.

And so the two went upstairs and laid in bed, cuddling. During this is when Spencers’s hands trailed along scars. They frowned and gently pulled away, hands fumbling to work away Actor’s robe and scarf. The two froze as Spencer’s eyes landed on the scars. Mark frowned and looked away, ashamed.

“H-how old...?” She asked, voice soft. Her hands gently ran over the scars as if she was trying to figure out the answer on their own. She felt her heart breaking at the sight. There were so many.

Mark sighed and he gently covered himself back up. “They’re old. Really old.” Wrong. “They’re from when Celine left me.” Liar. “But I’m...fine now.” He didn’t look at the other but it was clear he didn’t want Spencer looking at the scars.

She sighed before responding. “Hey. It’s okay.” Her hands gently held Mark’s face, making him look at her. “It’s okay. I’m here for you okay? I promise it’ll be alright. Just please... if you ever feel like doing something like that again call me. Call me and I’ll be over before you even get a chance to hang up.”

Mark felt his heart breaking. He couldn’t stop his plans but...a part of him wished he could. Yet he was already arranging for the party. He wanted to die and yet here was someone presenting him a way to be okay. To be happy. But he knew the manor wouldn’t allow this happiness. Knew the manor would stomp it under its heel.

Mark slumped against the other, hands weakly gripping onto them. He buried his face into Spencer’s neck and sobbed. He cried and cried, letting out pent up sadness. He mumbled soft apologies but the other simply hushed him. Her hand rubbed circles into Mark’s back.

Spencer reassured him, told him he’d be okay. That she was going to be there for him now and that it would be alright. That she wouldn’t leave him alone to suffer like this. That she would stick by his side from now on and help him recover.

Mark continued to sob and cry into Spencer for a while until he fell unconscious, too tired to stay awake. She simply smiled and kissed the top of his head. She brought the covers over them before settling back down. She noticed Mark’s grip still tight around them and she smiled warmly.

“Sleep tight prince. Tomorrow’s a new day.”

Oh how cruel fate would be to both lovers.

[bigskydreaming]

Hey remember that time pre-nu52 when Dick Grayson was so depressed he was basically suicidal because of a) Blockbuster systematically hunting down and murdering everyone close to him, blowing up his apartment building, burning down the circus he grew up in, etc, b) feeling responsible for Blockbuster’s murder, c) being dumped by Barbara in large part because of actions taken by his stalker, Tarantula, d) being raped by Tarantula, e) being effectively kicked off the Outsiders, his own team (by his own dad), and f) the Society of Supervillains literally nuking his city and killing thousands just when Dick had finished putting in place a months long strategy that was meant to safeguard Bludhaven from outside influence for years to come.....

....with this all happening pretty much all at the same time?

And how Bruce’s oh so effective parenting strategy for helping Dick deal with all this was.....to do absolutely nothing. Not a single thing for the six months Dick spent infiltrating the Society as a rogue mercenary while having what Bruce in his own words described as an active deathwish. Until Dick finally collapsed in the aftermath of Bludhaven’s bombing, sick from radiation poisoning because he’d run BACK into Bludhaven after said bombing, with zero expectation of making it back out alive. At which point Bruce FINALLY decided to say something, with that something being “hey so I’ve noticed that you’ve been pretty much suicidal for the past six months because of everything that’s happened to you, what the fuck is wrong with you, how dare you lose sight of the value of your own life, y’know...that thing I’ve done absolutely fuck all to remind you actually has value, until just now, when I decided this was the perfect time to finally confront you about all of this by like....yelling at you while sick and grieving over the thousands of deaths you feel personally responsible for?”

Just saying, none of the Batkids have a monopoly on being victims of Bruce Wayne’s A+ parenting and the idea that Dick gets preferential treatment from Bruce and is his golden boy and favorite son who never does wrong in Bruce’s eyes has absolutely zero basis in canon. Like where did that idea come from, I literally do not understand. 

Yes, Bruce has failed Jason and Tim and Damian all in epic and terrible ways but this ‘better’ relationship so many people seem to think Dick has with him involves Dick being a) the only one to ACTUALLY be fired as Robin, twice (Jason was only benched, never fired, and Dick didn’t actually fire Tim so much as try and PROMOTE him to his own solo hero, even if Tim didn’t take it that way), b) the only Batkid to ever be kicked OUT of the Manor, as in told he COULDN’T live there anymore, and to leave his key with Alfred (this also happened TWICE), c) hit by Bruce in moments of anger on more than one occasion, not while sparring or anything like that, just full on punched in the face cuz Bruce was pissed, nothing nearly as bad as what Bruce has done physically to Jason, but I mean...still very much part of their canon history d) the last person to know pretty much every single time Bruce added someone new to the family, with Dick not even rating a phone call when Bruce adopted Jason, having to be told by Tim himself that Bruce had offered to adopt him, not having a clue about Bruce’s intent to adopt Cassandra until Babs told him 

e) Giving Robin away to other people without ever thinking Dick deserved to even be consulted, like look I know I harp on this one constantly, but its because even when its acknowledged I don’t think most people ever acknowledge just HOW shitty this one is, like, Robin was literally crafted to be a memorial to Dick’s parents in every way, from the name to the costume to just the wise-cracking, cheerful public persona that was Dick’s way of continuing the family tradition of being entertainers whose JOB and livelihood was to make people happier. Like people talk a lot about Dick’s past with the circus to point out how he was raised as an acrobat since birth and that gave him an edge on his training, but nobody really talks much about the fact that hand in hand with this is the fact that Dick was raised from birth to be a performer, an entertainer, someone for whom cheering people up no matter what he was feeling himself, was like...a way of life. That’s what Robin was to Dick, only for it end up being taken away from him like he’d only ever had it by virtue of Bruce’s benevolence, and with it ultimately being coopted as an extension of Batman’s identity, like its real purpose was just to be what Batman needed it to be. The way Robin keeps trading hands with Dick almost never having a say in what happens to his memorial to his parents is a constant slap in the face that really doesn’t get enough attention IMO. 

Anyway, my point isn’t to diminish the shit Jason and Tim in particular have gone through because of Bruce’s A+ parenting, and god knows they have more than enough cause for their issues with him. But I will die on the hill that Dick’s gone through just as much because of Bruce and I really really hate this tendency to gloss over the stuff he’s had to endure because of him, usually just because writers don’t bring up his issues with Bruce and past history as often as they do the others.

(Also, I hate the tendency of fandom to JUST focus on Tarantula when referencing that part of canon, as though there wasn’t a shit ton of other trauma happening to Dick all at the same time, amplifying every aspect of the issues with Tarantula. I know everyone plays fast and loose with canon and picks and chooses what to focus on because you basically have to create your own version of canon from various timelines in order to make sense of well, anything....but like...yeah, there was so much shit happening in the Nightwing title around the Tarantula storyline that its always bothered me how people make a point to bring that element of canon into whatever patchwork version of canon they make, while usually leaving out every other aspect of that original storyline).

[shauds-archived]

Impulse + Talia?

Was going to do Ras and Talia thing, but it wasn’t working out so I fell back on Talia and Jason, and it got a little long. Thanks for your request! :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Talia al Ghul finds a boy stealing the Batmobile’s tires, she leaves him, trusting that Bruce will handle it. Then she finds the boy escaping from his school. Why she didn’t leave him there too, she’ll chalk up to impulse.

Or, the one where Talia kind of adopts Jason before Bruce.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later, she’ll chalk it up to impulse. Both her spontaneous visit to the City of Gotham, and the events that had transpired thereafter.

Meeting with the detective hadn’t been her plan, she’d just mean to check in, after troubling news that his partner had been killed and Richard outside of the public sphere for the time being. That the visit fell on the anniversary of his parent’s death was just happenstance. That she came across the car, the Batmobile as named by that insufferable boy, before she came across The Batman himself, even more so.

Bruce isn’t there, and she would leave it, continue her search for him elsewhere, if not for the fact that someone else is. At first she thinks it might been his Robin, but the child is much, much too small. And she very much doubts Richard was young enough still for such childish pranks.

It doesn’t take more than a glance at the child’s worn clothing, too slight build and cautious, hyper vigilant disposition for her to determine that he is either an urchin, or one of those for whom living care-givers make very little difference.

Already, one of the tires is missing, and as Talia, watches, too baffled by the sight to end it, he makes short work of the second. She waits for the security systems to engage, for Bruce to appear and halt the boy’s progress. Neither happens and the little vandal makes off with a second tire. And has the gall to come back for a third minutes later, twirling his tire iron and partly skipping as though he isn’t in the process of attempting to rob one of the most powerful men alive, like he isn’t coming back instead of settling with what he has already taken.

She’s acting on an impulse when she follows him, curious about where he thinks he can hide his prize’s from the bat, and then, about whether the small child will be able to get the tire up the fire escape and just how someone that young has learned such a diverse variety of vulgar language.

Small, but cleaner than she’d imagined it to be. There are poster’s covering over the larger stains marring the walls, the hovel’s only furnishings are a shelf piled with the tatters of what had once been books, the likes of Tolstoy and Kafka sitting innocuously besides children’s books, some pages written by hand, a small collection of audio tapes, and a framed photograph of a woman that Talia lifts for better inspection. It’s old, and the young woman bares the boy little to no resemblance. Merely a decoration perhaps and the worn smooth edges of the frame are from age.

When the boy returns, it’s sans a fourth tire, straining for breath and with the Batman following covertly at his heels. The child doesn’t see her exit, but she knows Batman does. He’s too busy fending off an attack by the child demanding he leave to come after her, and Talia can’t help but chuckle at the tenacity of the small boy right up until he’s effortlessly lifted up by his arm, any threat he’d posed nullified.

Hopeless though the fight is, there are many in the League of Shadows who could learn from that sort of persistence. If all of Gotham’s children possess that fighting spirit, perhaps there’s more to Bruce’s insistence on continuing to give his soul for the city.

O

O

O

’What’s the leagues interest in that boy?’

Talia’s brushing her hair out when she answers the phone call to her hotel room

”What a greeting, Beloved, I’m sure I don’t know what it is you’re speaking of.” Talia’s sets her brush aside and pulls her still damp hair over one shoulder tucking the phone between her chin and the other. “Perhaps if you were more specific?”

’Jason Todd.’ His voice is clipped, tight, not in a playful disposition then. ’The boy who tried to steal my tires.’

“Ah, and very nearly bested you in battle?” Talia chuckles and moves to looks out of the window at the sparkling city lights. “None that I’m aware off, I merely found his gall to be entertaining. I must ask, are all children in this city quite so precocious or was this boy an irregularity?”

The other side of the line is silent for a few moments it takes him to decide whether or not she’s being truthful, she takes the time to look at the spaces between the bright lights, at the shadows her beloved hides himself within while he protects this city. The shadows where most of its inhabitants dwell, out o reach of the light.

’We both know this isn’t your typical vacation destination, what are you doing here then?’

“Nothing of worth.” Talia shook her head, turning from the window, it was debatable whether anything of worth could be done for this city. “Not unless you would be inclined to suggest such an activity.”

There’s a snort and she can picture the put upon frown dragging down his lips. ’Goodnight Talia.’

“For the sake of my curiosity, what is it you’ve done with the boy.” She asks before he can end the call. “Are you scouting for Richards replacement so soon? You realize he’s need more training than your previous protégé at that age.” She hasn’t found any evidence that rumors of Robin’s passing are any more than rumors, but his lack of a presence may be due to something else entirely, and there’s no guarantee he’ll be returning to Gotham in the near future.

‘I dropped him off at a boy’s school.’ He sighs and there’s a burst of movement induced static, before he warns, ’But I’ll know if the league tries anything.’

”Of course, sleep well Beloved.” Talia returns the receiver to its cradle and pulls on a cord to turn off the lights, and then she gathers up the covers and rests against her pillows, where she lies, mulling over the night’s events until she falls to sleep. Her last though is of handwritten pages taped to worn books.

O

O

O

Early the next morning, before the sun rises, for no reason she can discern and no prior planning, Talia stops by Park Row before boarding the jet waiting to take her from Gotham.

The school where Bruce took the boy seems normal enough at a first glace. Like all the others of its kind, it doesn’t appear particularly comfortable, but there is bedding, an eating hall, facilities that all seem to be in order. Compared to where he’d been when her beloved had found him, the boy should have been grateful for the shelter and sanitation the place provided at the very least.

Why then is he making an escape out of the attic window?

She raises an eyebrow at the slight boy scrambling gingerly down the wall, right up until he drops down the last two floors and hits the ground with a jarring thump. Amid a litany of curses, he stands and brushes the gravel from his trousers, the same grime stained pair he’d been wearing the previous day.

If he goes missing now, Talia doubts Bruce would believe the league had nothing to do with it. Closing her suddenly tired eyes for a moment, Talia signals her driver to wait, then gets out of the car.

He’s stomping down an alleyway, still muttering to himself when she catches up with him.

“One would think a child in your position would be more grateful.”

”What the…!” He spins around, swinging a thin iron bar, but as soon as his eyes actually land on her, he trips over his feet in an attempt to keep the blow from hitting, a move that would have been unsuccessful had she not stepped from its path. He squawks as he falls to the ground in an undignified heap.

”Especially considering the fact that you’re likely to die traversing a sidewalk.” She shakes her head as he tries to pick himself up, she grabs hold of his arm and his sucks in a low breath when she pulls him to his feet. “I’ll return you to the school.”

”You with him?” he doesn’t wait for her answer before he yanks himself out of her grip and spins again to face her. “Like hell you will!” Talia has to work not to flinch at the bruising that mars his face. Fresher than anything he could have gotten before the previous night, the marks, green and dark purple both, continue down the collar of his shirt, to the bloody knuckles gone part-white from his grip on the bar. He notices her inspection and raises the bar defensively. “Try and take me back, I dare ya!”

”Batman will be displeased when he returns for you and finds you’ve disappeared.” She folds her arms and levels her gaze with his instead of on the bruising. She would have thought Bruce would have put more thought into who’s care he left the child in.

”Batman can screw himself, he’s just like the all the rest o’ em, adults.” The boy practically spits out the word, like it’s deadly poison, his whole face twisting into a scowl. “What, he wants ta keep up the supply of crooks or someth’n with that place? Well I’m out, I aint gonna learn to be no crook, no fuckin way, ‘specially not with that batty old crone.”

She keeps her expression blank and doesn’t comment on his inappropriate language. ”And you believe attempting to steal the tires of the Batmobile is less than criminal behavior?”

”Tires, not fucking museum exhibits like those assholes, and I don’t do it for shits and giggles lady; I just boost what it takes to survive. Car like that, he can prolly afford a couple new ones anyways.”

His scoff is high pitched in his frustration and stuff his hands in the pockets of his vest, when he turns his expression back on her; it’s more resigned than anything else. “You’re gonna call no matter what I say, aint ya?”

Talia doesn’t reply immediately, instead, she takes a breath and considers his question. Surely, her beloved would prefer having this child out of harm’s way for a time. There’s no reason he wouldn’t be more put upon by Talia removing him from the school than he would were she to remove him to a less hostile location, but where is the question.

Apparently her silence goes on too long. “Figures.” The boy huffs and starts tracing circles in the gravel with the tip of his sneaker. His posture betrays nothing other than resignation for whatever fate she decides for him.

It’s very convincing.

Then he tries to run away again and she has to grab a fistful of the grungy fabric behind his neck and press him up against the wall to keep him in place.

”Aw, come on!” He screams, throwing all of his not-considerable body weight into the twisting and pulling he does to escape her hold, his cursing a steady accompaniment to his struggles. None of it works of course, but it carries on for a good five minutes before his voice has gone too hoarse for and he has to focus more on his breathing than anything else. The technique is sloppy and he’s too weak for there to be any other outcome, but with a good training regiment and diet, there’s a good chance it might be developed. Not one of the people passing by stop to investigate, most don’t even spare a glance down the alley and those that do only cross the street.

”If you’re quite done.” Talia says once he’s gone silent, and he fixes her with a glare that borders on murderous, but doesn’t speak. She loosens her grip enough that he can set his feet back on the ground, but she doesn’t release him entirely on the very likely chance that he will attempt another escape. “You’ll be wise to watch your language from this point onward; such vulgarity will not be tolerated.”

Defiantly, the boy tries to jerk himself out of her hold in reply. Talia bites back on her a smile and turns him to start walking, keeping a tight hold on both his shoulders. Defiance can be unlearned, but the stubbornness and determination it is born of can be harnessed under the right conditions.

”’ll just bolt again later.” He mutters under his breath as he walks, once the school is in their line of sight, his shoulders sag and he cranes his head to look at her. “C’n ya at least tell Batman they’re gonna rob the museum tonight? Stuff’s old an they’re a buncha dumbasses who got no idea how to take care of it an ‘ts not like ya can just replace whatever they ruin in there. ‘S important.”

”I’ll have it dealt with.” She says. The tension in his shoulders returns bit-by-bit the closer they get to the school, and he drags his feet more. Talia increases the strength of her grip, a warning in case he thinks about running again, until they’ve passed it.

”Wait, the school.” When he tries to pull away from her this time, it’s to try looking past her, at the building they’re leaving behind them. “Where the fuck’re ya…”

”Your language Jason.” She warns and he almost stills at her use of his name, but she keeps him walking.

”How…?” He takes another look at the school before they turn away from it and start heading for the side of the road where Talia’s driver is waiting. “Did he tell ya? Hey, c’mon lady, I won’t run again, kay.”

”Even were I to believe that, you will be better off in my care than that woman’s.” The driver opens the door, not so much as batting an eye at his new passenger.

”We goin’ to Batman’s place?” Jason frowns, his brows furrowed, but he slides hesitantly into the car, with moving far enough towards the door so that she can slide in besides him.

”No you’ll remain with me until such a time that The Batman inquires of your whereabouts so that I may inquire of his planning capabilities.” As she says it, she again takes in the bruises splashed across the boy’s skin.

”’N if he doesn’t?” The boy’s brought his knees up to his chin, it’s good that the high quality leather is strain resistant, or the grime coming off his shoes would have been irreparable. She’ll have to find him something else to wear before they reach the jet.

”He’s made it clear he will.” She signals the driver to continue to their destination. “And he’ll likely put more thought into where he places you once he does.”

”Yeah sure he will.” Jason scoffs again, and turns his gaze to the window and the passing city with a petulant pout. “Big boob.”

Talia hums, but doesn’t find the insult harsh enough to scold him. She’s not sure where she’d going to take the boy once they’re on the place, or what exactly she’s going to do with him after that. It’s an impulsive decision and her planning shows for that, but it’s no matter, she’s confident she’ll have some sort of plan once she needs one. Her Beloved had warned the league off from the child, not Talia herself and she intends to return him if Bruce requests it. If he requests it. For now, she has some orders to issue regarding a museum.

[aithne]

(Illume) June 12th - 18th, 1583: Shadow of a Stranger

From Lady Yukiko's Journal

6/12/1583

Today held a wedding and a surprise, and tonight we are leaving Kyoto to head into the heart of the approaching army.

It's somewhat hard to believe that this is actually the most sensible course of action, but it does seem to be. We spent the day in Kyoto, recovering from the battle yesterday, waiting for the army to get to us tomorrow. The general idea was that once the battle started, we'd board the ship that would be arriving that day and leave the area. However, some new information has caused us to change our plans.

Funitsu and Tomika were married today in a somewhat abbreviated ceremony at a shrine in Kyoto. The alliance between the clans was formed when they announced their engagement, but the actual marriage makes that alliance more permanent. I find myself growing to like Tomika more as time goes on. She and I are much alike in some ways; I have not asked, but I have a feeling that she was the favored daughter of her household, as I was. Should she live long enough to take over leadership of the Crane Clan, I think she will be most effective in curbing some of the excesses that Clan has been displaying lately.

I am not certain that Funitsu knows exactly what he's married. It should be rather amusing watching him find out.

Tonight, as we were preparing to leave, Panda and Haku were called to talk to someone who had arrived at the gates, asking for them. When they came back, their faces were troubled. "That was Saran," said Panda. "He had news for us. Reiko, are you missing a spirit?"

The kitsune looked up from where she was sitting, her legs folded up so her heels were on the edge of her chair. "Lin left when I realized she'd been keeping me ignorant all of these years. If she weren't already dead, I'd kill her--I've been waiting for her to come back so I can yell at her some more. Why?"

"Well, the reason the army hasn't attacked yet is that General Nakasura is having a wu jen perform a ritual to put an old female spirit into a new body, and allow her to live again."

Reiko went pale, a shocked look on her face. Panda explained what Saran had told her, that Nakasura was vulnerable at this point to a small force, and that this ritual was occurring and would conclude in a few hours. The wu jen's name was Shurin, and Tomika mentioned that she'd heard of him. He specialized in bringing spirits back to life without any piece of their bodies, using a recently dead corpse, a piece of a person or place that the spirit is connected to, and a spirit who truly wants to return to life.

I could see anger beginning to burn through Reiko's confusion. Suddenly, she started. "Oh. I remember now. Lin is my granddaughter. I don't remember...wait. Yes. I killed her, I dragged her spirit from her living body and let her body burn." Silent stares from all around her. "What? She was trying to kill me." She paused, and muttered seemingly to herself, "I still don't understand why...but no matter."

Much babbling. Reiko wasn't making very much sense, I'm afraid, as she seems to not remember much of her past. She said something about a husband--who was still with her?--but even more than usual, she seemed to be assuming that everyone around her could see the things she does.

At that point, Tomika told Funitsu that she would be putting herself in danger if she went with us while she was spelless, and said that she'd come along and help if she had her spellbooks, or she would stay behind, his choice. The Scorpion weighed both options, and at some urging from the rest of my retinue, chose to trust her. Tomika said that she could study on the way, especially if we could bring along a litter for her so she could have some light.

And we were off, into the night. We avoided the main bulk of the army, only having to stop a few times to let scouts go past us. I watched soldiers rounding up the people on the farms surrounding Kyoto--my people!--with a sick feeling in my heart.

In three hours, we were drawing close to Nakasura, dismounting and leaving the horses loosely tied on an empty farm. We found Nakasura's tent, as impressive as generals' pavilions usually are, and Gryphon spotted some wyverns in the sky. He warned us that he'd heard that wyverns could fascinate humans with their gaze, and that they were poisonous. My retinue started wrangling about who was going to do what. and the kitsune, evidently impatient, said, "I'm going to go look." She faded from view and was gone.

Funitsu also pulled a cloaking spell around himself and crept up to the tent. The librarian also circled around to the back of the tent, leaving the rest of us waiting for something to happen. Watching, we could see one of the guards fall asleep, the other shaking the sleeping one and then speaking to someone in the tent. Whoever it was stepped outside, and I could see he had the armor of a general on--this was Nakasura. He said clearly enough for those of us down the field to hear, "We're under attack, that's a sleeping spell. Find them!"

And the wyverns in the sky stooped and attacked.

In the ensuing confusion, Tomika came in most handy as she used a lightning bolt on a wyvern who was sneaking up behind us. Funitsu had wyvern trouble but managed quite well, if I do say so myself. I saw Tadaki get hit by a wyvern and flee, changing form as he did so. I didn't see either the librarian or Reiko until the librarian came out of the tent, followed by another wyvern. I heard a male voice I hadn't heard before come from the tent, roaring something I couldn't hear, and a few seconds later the last wyvern dove into the tent. It emerged and took flight, a naked young woman clinging to its back. Gryphon launched himself after it, managing to kill the wyvern, but the woman on its back opened a dimension door for herself and disappeared. Lin is loose in the world, it seems, whoever she is. All I know is that she knows everything that Reiko knows, and she is cooperating with my husband's enemies.

My bodyguards both acquitted themselves most ferociously, Panda falling to a blow from Nakasura and Haku stepping into her place. Nakasura stepped forward, bloody sword at the ready, but then looked at something next to Haku's foot and backed away. Haku took the opening to throw Nakasura around a bit. A lightning bolt from Tomika finished him, and Gryphon, whom Reiko had told could eat Nakasura, pounced on the corpse.

Haku picked up the thing from the ground that Nakasura had backed away from--a sparrow, sleeping. Tadaki, it would seem. Reiko appeared in the doorway of the tent, dragging the librarian out of the tent. He seemed to be fast asleep--wyvern poison, I assumed. Reiko tended to Panda, kissing the worst of her wounds closed. An odd shaman, is our kitsune. She appears to have not a squeamish bone in her body.

When Tadaki and the librarian woke, Tadaki changed forms back to human, and said with some surprise, "Ow! This thing--" He pulled out of his pocket the orb he'd gotten from Omura a few days ago. We could hear a distant screaming and a crane-shaped shadow rose from Nakasura's corpse and dove into the orb, which glowed briefly. Tadaki held a brief conversation with his orb, in which it was revealed that each of the generals has a little bit of the spirit that has taken over Hideyoshi in them, and this orb is designed to collect those pieces.

Tomika offered to wake both the wu jen and Nakasura so they could speak to us. When Tomika woke them, she made each corpse do a dance, which was amusing in a gruesome sort of way. Reiko questioned both bodies; the wu jen said that Lin was going back to Arenro.

Silence from the kitsune. Then, "Back to Arenro? What?"

Nakasura had a few more answers for us, saying that he knew that Lin and Arenro had been friends back when Lin was still alive. He had little more of use for us, though we did question him some more. We decided that we needed to alert Saran to the fact that Nakasura was dead and that his coup was no longer going to be needed, and sent the librarian into the army to find him. Reiko told us that she was going to go for a run, but changed her mind when the gryphon offered to fly her back to Kyoto.

I had not thought, before, to worry about the friendship between those two. The gryphon is somewhat impulsive, and the shaman is not much better. I hope that some ameliorating influence will happen sooner rather than later, as those two could easily be quite the menace to both enemies and allies. I know, now, that Reiko's intelligent enough--as long as she ever pauses to think, but she doesn't seem to do that too often.

The librarian spoke to Saran and then brought him back to us, telling us that the newly-minted General had an excellent idea. Saran said, if he declared loyalty to me, he could join forces with Yasahiro and help defend Kyoto, giving us a safe place to return to. After some discussion, we decided that this was a good idea, and returned to Kyoto.

When we were reunited with Reiko and Gryphon, Panda asked the shaman curiously, "Lin was your granddaughter? That must mean you've had a child or two. Do you have any other descendants?"

The shaman frowned, seemingly trying to remember. And then she blinked, and asked the air next to her, "Really? Why didn't you tell me before? All right--" She returned her attention to Panda. "My name six centuries ago was Iyotushi Reiko. My husband's name is Lord Iyotushi Setto." She glanced over at me, offering a small smile. "I am Akechi's many-greats-removed grandmother. It was in my time that the Iyotushi family became noble." A pained looked crossed her face, and she rubbed her temples, grimacing. "I'm sorry, the memories are coming back, but all out of order, and I can't make sense of many of them. I remember the night Lin died. I remember the night my husband...committed seppuku." A catch in her voice, there. "I remember little else, I'm afraid. But it's starting to come back, now that Lin's no longer in the spirit world."

There's one mystery solved--why a strange little shaman was promoted over Arenro by my husband, almost a year ago. Akechi must have known--but how? He never mentioned it to me.

Panda, Haku, Yasahiro, Saran and I spent a long time in conference this evening, planning strategies. We must assume that the other side knows of everything we do, now, and it is now that all of our plans must change.

We sail for Hiroshima in the morning.

6/13/1583

Uneventful sailing today. None of us seem very inclined towards conversation. Funitsu and Reiko have been working healing those who were wounded, and Gryphon is, as usual, fishing for himself. Tadaki has been climbing around in the rigging, and the librarian...come to think of it, I haven't seen the librarian all day. I wonder what he's been up to?

Three and a half more days to Hiroshima, if the wind holds.

6/14/1583

I confess to being very curious as to what, exactly, is going on between Funitsu and Tomika. Intuition is telling me that she might actually be starting to like him.

I suppose it'll develop as it does. It would be good to know if she truly is on our side; I do not yet trust her completely.

The shaman spoke to nobody today. I greeted her as she went by me on the deck this morning, but she acted as if she did not see me. Perhaps she is more in the spirit world than not, today.

The child within me is quiet. I get the sense that it is waiting for something.

Perhaps it is waiting for the same thing I am--answers.

6/15/1583

Poor Haku is restless. As are the rest of us, except Gryphon who has been having a wonderful time swimming in the ocean and showing off his new ability to fly, and Panda who is her usual calm self. She's been doing a lot of meditation, and sword drills with me, Haku, and the librarian. Haku's been getting whoever will agree to be his victim to drill with him; the motion seems to do him good. The air has felt like it wants to storm all day long, but the weather refuses to break.

It's late in the evening, perhaps ten o'clock, and I just saw Reiko go past my door, down the corridor. I suspect she's found a sailor or two to keep company with for the moment.

This weather! It's enough to drive those of us who aren't already crazy quite mad.

Earlier this evening, I'd arranged for a bath--one of the perks of being both noble and pregnant is that people tend to indulge you when you request things like hot baths. I think they reason that I'm at least asking for attainable things, not plums from the slopes of Mount Fuji or anything like that.

Panda accompanied me, being the closest thing to a lady in waiting that I have at the moment, and as I used a touch of magic to heat the water for myself, I asked her, "So, do you think we can trust the shaman?"

"Why wouldn't we?"

I cupped my hands and poured water over my shoulders. "Her spirit did betray us, after all. I'm not sure what the odds of that happening again are."

Panda shrugged, beginning up pull her topknot down and comb out her hair. Her swords were by her side, and she was keeping a watchful eye out, still on duty even now. "She says that was the only spirit who was rebellious. Even the one who possessed her before was simply misguided. Possesion can happen to almost anyone. If even Akechi can be possessed, I'm not sure that any of us are immune."

"Not a child still in the womb, certainly." I cupped my hand over my belly, sighing a little. "So you think we should keep her with us?"

"She's probably better off with us than away with us. Akechi sent her with us for a reason, I'm sure. Perhaps she knew of her connection to your family."

"He never mentioned it to me, but perhaps. I'd also like to know how Hirohito knew that we are traveling with a kitsune and a hengeyokai."

Panda pulled at a stubborn tangle. "I assumed that the Lord told him."

"I don't know that he would have. There was very little that Akechi did not share with me; while I knew about Tadaki, I didn't know what Reiko was, and that's the sort of thing that he wouldn't have told his brother without telling me." I wound a lock of hair around my fingers, thinking. "He knows too many things, Panda. I don't trust him. I like him, but we need to be very wary of him. He may not be an enemy, but I don't think we can count him as a friend. At the very most, he is an ally."

"Don't worry, Lady. I trust very few people, and Hirohito is not on that list."

I smiled. "Good, samurai. We should keep it that way." I shifted, pulling my knees as far up as they'll go at this point. "I wonder how Tomika is really feeling about Funitsu. I almost think she rather likes him."

"Well, he is not unattractive, or so I assume from the tittering I've heard from your ladies when he comes to see you."

"And he can be charming, when he puts forth the effort. I'm not certain if that's going to be enough to overcome the manner of his asking her to marry him. It is customary to untie the lady first. It smacks of coercion."

"I don't know. At least she had the choice as an adult. My parents had their marriage arranged when they were both three years old, and they were quite happy together, so perhaps this will work out the same way."

"Hopefully. We'll see." I'd caught a glimpse of Panda's face as she put down her comb, wincing a little as her arm moved through a range of motion that had just been healed a couple of days before. "How are you, Panda? Recovered from the fight?"

"My body is mostly healed, thank you."

I tilted my head. Panda had something on her mind, and she wasn't about to tell me about it unless I asked. "And your soul?"

She sighed a little bit. "Troubled, Lady. Nearly dying has brought to the forefront of my mind that should I die, that will be the end of my line. I have asked Haku, should I fall, to bring my sword to my ancestral temple, but...I should have someone to pass it on to."

I considered this. "I know you've been very focused on your career, Panda, but perhaps it's time you gave some thought to having a child or two. Now, of course, isn't the right time, but perhaps once we have Akechi back, you could find someone."

"Or I could find someone to adopt. I was sent to my parents by the goddess and the god when they were unable to conceive. I am certain that, when the time is right, the opportunity will present itself."

"Or perhaps you'll find someone along the way that you like enough to consider adding them to your bloodline."

Panda answered, a bit stiffly. "I have heard that the process of actually bearing children requires, ah, a father."

"It does. And the process of conceiving is really quite a lot of fun. You ought to try it. I'm certain any of our companions, except perhaps Funitsu, would be quite willing to introduce you to the concept..."

I realized that I'd gone a bit too far with that when I saw Panda blushing, bright color burning on her cheeks. She looked away and said, in a somewhat strangled voice, "Oppressive weather we've been having lately, isn't it?"

"Nice subject change, samurai." I chuckled a little. "Well if you ever need help with your endeavors, let me know. If nothing else, I can describe the process for you well enough."

"We don't need more than one person nauseous in the morning at this point, and I can't defend you with an awkward belly in the way."

"True enough. I suppose I feel like someone in my retinue should be getting laid other than the kitsune and possibly Funitsu."

Panda raised an eyebrow. "Reiko is...indulging herself?"

"She's no good to us starving. That's why I told you not to lock her in any more. I believe that a sailor or two has been obliging her, as well as probably a guard back in Kyoto. Or, possibly, Yasahiro. I haven't asked, and it's probably better that I don't know, unless she develops an attachment to someone. And keeping her fed means that she's less likely to need to feed on one of us."

"There are, ah, probably several who wouldn't mind her method of feeding among us, i'm sure." Panda was beginning to shift around again, a sure sign that we were getting close to one of those subjects that she's uncomfortable with. I had a sudden insight as to why, but chose to leave it alone for the moment.

"But what happens when she saps the vitality of someone we need in battle the next day? Safer to have her indulge outside of our retinue." I stretched and set to scrubbing myself, the warmth of the water relaxing me as it always does. We talked some more, mostly about inconsequentials, as I finished bathing. I slipped once and made reference to the librarian being something than what he appeared to be, and Panda replied, "He is an archivist. If I were to know that he were something else that was not exactly honorable, I would have to do something about it, more than likely."

I nodded, taking the warning. "He is simply an archivist. But a useful man, you must admit."

"Undoubtedly. Librarians are quite fierce in the defense of their books. I suppose that, in the end, we're books ourselves, so that protectiveness transfers."

I laughed a little at the mental backbends the samurai was doing, and chose to not deliberately disturb her world. "You and your honor, Panda."

"I would not be as useful to you without it, my Lady."

"I will keep this in mind, samurai. For the moment, though, would you mind helping me up?"

Wrapped in a robe, my hair down to dry (this fiendish air is making it take much longer than it usually does), I am about to finish this and retire for the night.

I dreamed of Akechi last night. Perhaps, tonight, I will do so again.

6/16/1583

If the wind holds, this will be our last full day of the voyage. We're all vaguely irritable, including the child, who has taken to kicking my spine again. Tomika is sniping at Funitsu and, strangely enough, the librarian, who as far as I can tell hasn't actually done anything offensive other than be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I approached Reiko, who was splinting the leg of one of the ship cats who'd been unlucky enough to be in the wrong place when one of the sails had shifted, and sat down next to her. She said, "As long as you're here, Lady, could you hold the splint in place for me while I wrap this?"

I complied, the cat squirming uncomfortably under my hands, as she wrapped leg and splint with a length of cloth. "There we go. It'll need to be kept quiet for a couple of weeks, but it should heal all right. It was a clean break."

"I didn't know you knew how to doctor animals as well as humans."

She shook her head. "Broken bones are somewhat obvious, wounds are wounds no matter what species. Illnesses differ between humans and animals, though, and the cure for humans might kill an animal, and vice versa." She rubbed the cat's head, and a rumbling purr came from it, as it seemed content to lie on her lap for the moment. "I mostly stick with humans."

"Have you always been a physician?" I was genuinely curious, and this also seemed to be a line of questioning that might get me some of the answers I sought.

"I--no. Before Lin, it was one of my interests, but I never truly developed it. After, well, it seems that I spent at least some of my lives being one. Among other things."

"Such as?" I could tell I was making the kitsune uncomfortable, but I needed to know.

She looked at me, those amber eyes unreadable. "I know the first life after I acquired Lin, I was a geisha. One of the...not quite reputable ones. After that, I have very few memories. I know I was a court physician when I acquired Zhane. I have a feeling that I've made my way in the world in whatever manner was available to an attractive woman of no family and few resources other than her body and her gift for knowing what others do not. Lin...Lin was ashamed of me, I think. She had difficulty with knowing that she had immortal blood. I was never what she wanted me to be, and she never let me forget it."

"And before Lin?"

She smiled. "Before her, I was the Lady of a noble house, one that rose quickly after the death of the Emperor who declared my late husband, and thus myself and my child, noble. I built the estate in Kyoto, and I lived there quite happily for a very long time. And then, one night, I was talking to Setto on my balcony, and I saw something in my garden that shouldn't have been there. That was the night that everything changed."

"Is it true, then, that you're Akechi's--and my child's--ancestor?"

"I and Setto founded Akechi's line." Again, that sensual smile. "He was the only one I ever married, and it took him seven years to convince me that marrying him was a good idea. Fifteen years was far too few to spend with him. I was...most upset when he was forced to commit seppuku."

Something wasn't adding up here. "You said that all of your spirits except Lin had died by your hand--and it turned out that you killed Lin, as well. But you say that--Setto, right?--committed seppuku. Does that mean..."

Reiko was looking down at the cat, watching her own hands smooth the silver and black fur. "One of the ancient ways of ritual suicide is to submit oneself to one of the demons who lives on the life force of others. I am...one of those demons. Setto knew what I am, and he asked me to be his sword for seppuku." She raised a hand to her mouth, pausing, taking a quick breath inward. I waited for her to continue. "I'm sorry, talking about it brings the memory back. He was the only one who ever made the choice to be drained by me, and it was only because I loved him that I agreed. It was not easy. I know you love Akechi. Setto and he are...much alike."

I tried to imagine the confused little shaman that I knew as the reigning Lady of a noble line. She must have been very different back in the day; the Reiko I know can barely govern herself, much less an entire family.

We sat in silence for a few moments. Reiko continued petting the cat, and then looked at me. For the first time, something of the immortal stirred in her eyes. "In the last six centuries, I have killed every single person I have ever loved. I find that track record somewhat troubling. If you chose to tell me to leave your service, I would understand."

I shook my head. "Reiko. I am convinced there is a reason that you are with us, and I am loath to upset that. Besides, I think that as long as you know what you are, you won't kill anyone you don't mean to. You've been feeding lately, unless I miss my guess."

She grinned. "The sailors are most obliging." Her expression sobered then, and she said, "Just so you know, I will not be feeding among your retinue. Even if some choose to share my bed, there are too many problems that might be caused by me actually feeding on any of them."

"Don't make any promises you can't keep, kitsune. But thank you for your consideration." She chuckled, shrugging. The cat on her lap lifted its chin to be scratched, and I reached over to pet it. After a moment, I asked, "You know, you keep referring to yourself as married. But Setto has been dead these six centuries, and, well...you certainly don't act married..."

"I suppose I'm officially a widow. But Setto's spirit--" She glanced over at a spot in the air where I could see nothing. "--is very much with me, all the time. What I remember of the years after his death tells me that I considered myself very much married to him, though he was with me in spirit and not in body. And now, yes, it feels right that I'm married. Even when I didn't know what I was or who he was, I knew I loved Setto the best of all my spirits. As for the other, when my husband was alive, we had an arrangement that allowed me to feed on other people. Otherwise, a relationship between a kitsune and a human ends in a slow death for the human. And now...he married me knowing what I am, after all." She looked back at that spot in the air, head tilted as if she were listening to something I couldn't hear. "It really is, Setto. I'm working on it." The shaman smiled at me. "Setto just said that it's too bad he can't talk to you directly. He approves of you, I think."

I blinked, unsure of what to say. "Ah, thank you."

"Just passing on the message. And now I have even more of a reason to stay with you, Lady. Your child is my many-times-great grandson. Or granddaughter, but I'm thinking grandson. I was once this family's guardian. Perhaps it's time for me to take up the position once more." Again, a flash of the immortal in her eyes as she grinned at me. Then she cradled the cat to her chest, rising and lifting her face to the sky, smelling the wind. "Hiroshima tomorrow, do you think? If we're lucky, we'll get there before the storm breaks."

Something occurred to me as I stood, rubbing the small of my back. "You mentioned that the Emperor who declared our family noble died soon afterwards. I don't suppose you had anything to do with it, did you?"

Her smile contained no mirth whatsoever. "Officially, his heart stopped as he was sleeping one night, which was surprising as he wasn't that old and in excellent health. But for future reference, Lady? It is a very bad idea to take away someone I love from me." She turned and walked towards the bow of the ship.

So I have many things to think on tonight. Who else among my retinue holds such surprises?

With luck, tomorrow we'll be on dry land. I confess that the allure of sea travel is beginning to wear a little bit, but it does give such opportunities for learning about one's companions.

The storm continues to hold. I felt the touch of a raindrop a few minutes ago, but nothing else. Perhaps tomorrow, when we're on land.

I'm finding myself looking forward to seeing Hirohito again, oddly. After getting over my initial trepidation about him, I find him much like Akechi in many ways. If nothing else, he has been a good ally so far, though I fear he has enough secrets that this might not last forever.

More tomorrow, of course.

6/17/1583

Hiroshima! Finally. We reached port just as the first raindrops from the storm that has been following us started pattering on the deck. By the time we reached Hirohito's home, the wind had picked up and thunder was growling. I confess to finding myself relieved that the weather had finally broken, even if it meant that we were soaked to the skin by the time we reached the palace.

We were made welcome and told that Hirohito was on his way back from Tokyo at the moment; he was scheduled to arrive that evening, but the storm might well delay him. A day of rest has done us a world of good; even Tomika seems to be in a better mood.

In fact, Tomika seems to be in a *much* better mood than she has been. I don't know her well enough to know what this mood swing might presage. It's late afternoon, and we are gathered in a large room, one wall of which is opened so we can watch the warm rain. Panda's on guard duty, standing at attention beside me; Haku, I believe, is in the garden somewhere. Tadaki's settled on a cushion, studying his spellbook, and Tomika's doing the same. Funitsu is standing near the open wall, seeming to be contemplating the falling rain and the occasional growl of thunder.

Reiko and the librarian are studying out of the same books, attempting to puzzle out whatever Reiko's gaijin spirit is telling her. They seem to be making some progress, but how much I cannot tell. Now that Lin is no longer with her, Reiko seems to be much less prone to muttering to herself, which has been a pleasant change.

I quail at the thought of Arenro knowing everything that Reiko and thus Lin knows about us, but I suppose it can't be helped. We did our best to stop her, and we failed. Overall, I think we came out somewhat ahead, but the odds are still against us.

If only we could find Akechi. Though I know he's safe for the moment, and keeping him safe means staying out of Hideyoshi's grasp, I'd feel much better if he were here with us. Of the two of us, he has the better tactical mind, though I'm by far the better at gathering intelligence. It's too bad I can't get in touch with any of my old contacts; I have to assume for the moment that they're all compromised.

We'll see what Hirohito has to suggest when he gets here.

6/18/1583

Hirohito arrived mid-morning and came to see us soon after. After trading greetings, we settled down in the large room we've been using to gather in to talk. Hirohito told Funitsu that Arenro had been most upset at the news of his engagement to Tomika. "His exact words were, 'Who the hell let that happen?' And, by the way, isn't she one of the wu jen I told you to go kill?"

Funitsu shrugged. "She turned out to be considerably more than a minor noble. It was the...course of greatest prudence."

My brother-in-law snorted. "Scorpions."

Reiko spoke up. "I'm afraid we have bad news for you, Lord." At his nod, she continued. "One of my spirits turns out to have been an old friend of Arenro's, from five centuries ago. She was brought back to life by a wu jen who specializes in such things, and has returned to Arenro's side. She knows everything I know, which means that you're now compromised. I am sorry."

He sat still for a moment, contemplating this. Then he asked, "Do you still have that source? I think I'll need some. If Arenro knows about me helping you, soon Hideyoshi will know, and the next time I show my face in Tokyo, it will probably be forcibly separated from my shoulders. I'll still help as I can, but I'm not going to be able to feed you information from inside any longer. I suggest you find another general to turn."

"Any suggestions?" asked Funitsu.

"Omura might be a good one to start with. Though...General Nibori has never been easily controlled. He's hengeyokai, and has fought the control long and hard. He was most certainly not a willing conscript. He may be the best bet for you. He's located near Akita, near Hokkaido." His eyes rested on me. "Sister, your father is having a bit of trouble. He is surrounded by people who would do him harm, and one of his advisors is quite dangerous and, I am convinced, trying to get him to help Arenro's side. She is also hengeyokai, her name is Emi."

At that, Tadaki started. "There's a name I thought I'd never hear again."

"Friend of yours, Tadaki?" Funitsu was looking at our wu jen with narrowed eyes.

"A childhood acquaintance. She helped kill almost all of the people in my village." He shook his head, shivering a little. "She's one of the few people I've ever known who were truly born bad. We caught her dissecting one of our people when she was eighteen; we never managed to prove that she'd killed him, but she'd definitely taken him apart after he died. I've been looking for her, and the people who helped her destroy my village, for a number of years now."

Reiko's smile was wry. "Well, here's your chance. I'm sure the Lady would like to help her father, and...Akita's on the way, correct?"

Funitsu replied, "Almost everywhere is on the way to Hokkaido. It's at the other end of Japan. If we go up the western coast, we can stop by Akita on the way and talk to this Nibori."

Tadaki broke in, "Wait, I wasn't paying attention before. Nibori, you said? He's a Sparrow, as well?" As disturbed as he'd looked before, he looked quite happy now. "He's an old friend, a real one this time. He's from my village, and he was taken when it was destroyed. I never managed to find him. Perhaps he knows what happened to Midiko, as well."

We discussed it for some time, and decided that sailing up the western coast was the best idea. It will take us between a week and two weeks to get up the coast, depending on whether or not the winds are with us. We'll restock the ship tomorrow and sail the day after.

And now, I am wondering about that village that Tadaki grew up in. There is more than he's saying to the destruction of his village. But I suppose those are speculations for another night.

The storm's rage has abated, and the rain is now gentle and warm. May all the storms we pass through be so benign.

Quotes:

"I don't want to be in battle with a wyvern!" "Sound tactical thinking. You've concisely summed up the problem here." (Hiroshi, Haku)

"I position myself away from the things that are trying to kill me." (Hiroshi)

"She dances Nakasura's corpse towards you, one-legged." "I grab the leg bone of his I'm gnawing on and run away. MY leg now! MINE!" (Storm (as Tomika), Gryphon)

[not-a-statement]

Chasing ghosts. Chapter 3

Sorry friends for overdosing your dashboards with this stuff, but I’m too excited to hold it back anymore. 

This chapter really did kill me while writing. I somehow tried to reflect my own feelings in it as well as to put observation of my friend who has currently lived through a very messy situation.

Anyway, chapter under the cut, critics and suggestions are always appreciated.

Welp, it’s time to go to dead.

New York, NY, October 7-11, 2024

Nights seemed to be the hardest to live through. Not literally - in a physical way - but maybe a little bit in that way too. Just a bit…

Every morning he felt numb. No such things as work, clothes or breakfast were present in his area of interest. And it seemed that those things were long gone for a while then. Only his memories, smells from the past and lingering sensations of light touches that were unlikely to happen again were orbiting him every day from the moment of awakening…

Unlikely to happen again? Light touches? Ding-fucking-Dong, you bloody idiot. Stop thinking of it like you’ve been married for a lifetime and then your wife moved to her gram-gram’s place at the “Fluffy Clouds Acres”...

Yeah, you have other suggestions about how to live on with a giant hole instead of heart?..

He wanted to feel himself a victim. Longed for sympathizers of all kinds queuing up to his bed, big baskets full with fruits in their hands, “Get well soon” cards, soothing phrases on their tongues - that he was every right to feel what he felt, that he deserved her and she made a very big mistake picking that bastard to be her husband…

You know what would be more honest? If somebody brought you some poison instead.

Or at least whiskey…

Would you knock it off already? Where’s your smart part when it comes to distinguishing seeds from chaff? Do you honestly think that all your feelings are of a value? Don’t be ridiculous - your own sister? For real? You actually expected everything to work out?   

Shut up…

It was Monday morning, Dipper had to get prepared to leave for work - he’s finally got a position. Kind of. Same duties, another ton or two plus to his salary - at least it was something, right? At least an excuse not to spend all of his time in this god forsaken flat all day long.

But he was still laying in his sister’s bed, inhaling her scent that somehow managed to stay in the pillow. What a pathetic view it was…

Not as pathetic as his kitchen exterior though. The day prior - as for all other days - there was loads of booze and Dipper was too lazy to bother himself with throwing out the garbage so there was lots of empty bottles laying and standing here and there, empty cigarettes packs, Chinese food boxes - a perfect decorations for a hopeless bachelor’s place.

Sloppily cooked breakfast, coffee as dark as New York’s midnight sky - state’s one. The city itself was living 24 hours so the illumination was enough to make a barrier between nighttime dreamers and traces of light casted by long gone celestial giants billions of human lives away from our sinful rotten asteroid.

Perhaps it was the other way around in New City. Probably the view was breathtaking with all the stars in the sky to count, crispy countryside air to bath in…

Warm and gentle hand of beloved woman to squeeze, cascades of her hazel hair to admire and fiddle with…

Dipper stumbled upon the battalion of empty bottles causing some of them fall clinking resentfully. The sound was enough to make his head ache and cast a grimace of displeasure on his face.

So that’s the plan, huh? Drink until you find a ball of snot instead of your liver?

Pffft...as if

Oh, I get it. Not your problem, right? It’s ten-years-later-Dipper’s problem…

He had to take control over the situation - find a better job, start doing some kind of sport to get fit, maybe find a woman. Anything that will help him get over his misery and make this voice nagging at the back of his mind go…

That’s a great plan - so many details. Hey, why don’t you get a job in NASA? With your ability to make plans like that we will land on Mars twenty years earlier than estimated.

Or at least by then he had a simpler task to tackle - get dressed and step out of this flat to start a new day that’s unlikely to be any different from the day before. Only task he could possibly do without failing.

As for making detailed plans - that’s an important concept, Dipper had to admit. All this abstract thoughts and ideas about new job and sport - they’re important nevertheless. But if one just postulates such things they’re unable to lead anywhere. Dipper as one who used to be the master of bajillion steps checklists for any occasion - to win Wendy’s heart for example - knew for sure that if he wanted to make any progress he needed to think and plan deeper than that.

What Mabel used to tease him about pretty often was a very useful ability. Staying organized, understanding each step and possible alternative breakpoints and handling possible exceptions. For an average person this way of thinking could play good if they keep it in balance with other aspects of their life. But Dipper was no average person.

He was...Dipper. And that meant that balance was off the table.

Good or bad, Dipper and Mabel complemented each other in so many things that one of them wasn’t whole without the other. And that same balance in Dipper’s vigorous activity of his brain was introduced by his sister, with her emphasis on feelings, emotions, and her own particular angle of view.

But when he found himself alone he started to crumble. His brain was acting like a locomotive rushing at maximum speed risking to go off the rail at any moment. Nerves gone acute and at the same time emotions gone blank.

He tried - God knows he did - to live on his own, to give way to his emotions, tried to find that different point of view, based on feelings, yet to no big avail. Every attempt ended at the start point, all theories were in contradiction with one another and ended up crumbled.

The only thing that helped in letting all go was alcohol.

Only having drunk a glass or two of bourbon he used to start looking at all what was happening differently. After half of bottle he used to start feeling.

He was feeling pure pain caused by disappearance of his most beloved person, his second half from his life. Of the girl, who somehow managed to make him falling for her so hard casting thousands of butterflies in his stomach, sending shivers down his spine when she laughed and making him completely numb when she cried. Mabel Pines, that one and only girl in the world for whom he was ready to jump off the cliff on a gigantic robot with nothing but his bare hands, for whom he was ready to endure any level of his own pain just to keep her safe and protect her. He’s never loved anybody as much as he loved her. And never will.

He was feeling anger. What did this smug douchebag know about Mabel? Was it him who lived with her for the whole life? What he can possibly give her? I don’t remember him breaking through Bill’s traps to set her free from that bubble prison. Not to say he wasn’t one who crawled through SWAT squad to clear Stan’s name. Heck, I bet he couldn’t even handle gnomes - probably would shit himself and bail with his tail tucked. And is he ready to cover her with his body in case something threatening her? Is he capable of doing anything that slick faggot from Wall Street?! Who is he to separate us?!

He was feeling fear. Mabel is alone out there. Where will you be when she needs you, huh? You saw what world could have in store twelve years ago. Do you think anything changed? Do you think that Bill won’t return? Or even if he won’t who said that he’s the only one? You’ve been thinking about it for quite a while, haven’t you?

On Tuesday that fear dimmed his eyes to almost unbearable level. What’s the matter? Why your hand with a lighter clenched in it shakes so hard?

Shut up…

On Wednesday he took an illness day off. He was feeling rather bad physically but that wasn’t the matter - he was just really scared to leave his flat. For the whole day he kept wandering within it - from his sister’s bedroom to the kitchen and back - rushing constantly to his computer typing request after request or scribbling some incomprehensible gibberish in his journal - the same that Mabel gave him as a birthday present. Yet another bottle was opened not long after lunch time, because he couldn’t bear that day staying sober.

The next day - on Thursday - in the early morning he woke up at pretty much the same spot he ended falling the night prior - behind the sofa in the living room. His face felt swelling, knees and elbows were harshly scratched at various places - perhaps he would find some furniture items at same poor condition. His journal was lying on the sofa, its first dozen pages or so covered with all kind of theory snippets or logical fact chains - anything he could come up with in order to keep his brain working consistently and not having it exploded. Some of his notes made no sense at all, others reeked with insanity. He had to keep working, had to grasp that tiny bits of his mind floating on the surface of the blindingly dark ocean consisting of repelling visions, predator’s muzzles and never ending sound of some woman crying.

Also there was one more thing swirling through that ocean - a phrase carelessly spoken by Zach on Saturday.

On Friday night the week before Mabel was bombarding her brother’s phone with invitations for him to come over to Turner’s and have a dinner together. He missed her beloved brother and probably was acknowledging the fact that in such conditions a modest family dinner was the only option for them to spend some quality time together instead of nights full of movie marathons and pizza. It’s what people do, don’t they? When they become adults…

But if Mabel was feeling a bit melancholic because of that blunt bogus of an activity, it came to no comparison with what Dipper might’ve felt that exact second he appeared at Zach’s door. He either would leave within an hour tops or get drunk as swine. So it was better not to come at all to prevent such bad consequences.

But having to turn his sister down over a phone for yet another time wasn’t any less painful. Hearing her voice changing from cheerful one to upset, because of whatever excuse he could come up with - working late, having an extra task, needing to stay up until late night home because of an important article he had to finish. Or hearing her playful teasings about him having a secret date with ladies and reminders to leave a tie on the knob which would make him laugh uncontrollably adding more more pain. He couldn’t stand it. That’s why he decided to take a decisive action.

He turned off his cell phone. And spent a long time sitting on a bench near to Brooklyn bridge with a bottle of whiskey in a paper bag, staring at his device’s black lifless screen as if trying to soak its void up.

Void and darkness. What are they? The absence of life, light, benignancy. Absence of everything - only vast and pure nothingness. Why can’t I adapt it? To feel nothing, to throw this piece of plastic into the river, to come home today, grab my bag and jump on the first flight to Oregon. Cut all ties with Mabel, simply disappear from her horizon. Wouldn’t that be better?

It sure would’ve been easier.

But the only response the phone’s screen could give the reflection of the autumn afternoon sky with glimpses of upcoming dusk rather than comply with Dipper’s inner desires. So only thing he was left with was whiskey again.

Its taste was already a rock solid number one in his rating of favorite tastes. In mixture with tobacco smoke. Nevertheless that blend taken in serious doses were casting an instant portal to the morning after.

And what it had in store were regrets and sorrowful thoughts about what he’d done and what a jackass of a brother he was. So the phone was turned on, Mabel’s number typed his thumb hovering over the green button was given an order to hold it back no more.

There was a beep. And then another. And another.

After 6 beeps Dipper started having second thoughts about how 9 pm on Saturday might’ve been not the best time for late apologies but then his phone slightly buzzed and he heard someone’s deep morning breathing on the other end.

“Hi, Mabes, I...um...” he started timidly trying to soften his hoarse hang over voice “About yesterday...I’m really sorry I couldn’t call you back...my battery died and I had to stay late so I walked home and hit the hay the moment I entered...”

He let out a clumsy chuckle scratching the back of his head.  

Telling lies, are we?

Shut up.

“So...yeah...I’m sorry I couldn’t make it yesterday to your place...um...maybe will try the next Friday? Mabes?”

He heard a male voice giggling through the receiver that sent cold wave to his abdomen.

“Oh, sorry, man. Didn’t want to interrupt your monologue.”

Zach. That bastard…

“Oh...hey, Zach...” he wasn’t ready to stumble upon Zach in such condition. “Um...would you mind passing phone to Mabel?”

“I wish, bro, i wish” Dipper clenched his fist hard enough to make his knuckles go white “But Mrs. Turner is still watching whatever bright and pleasant dream she’s watching”

Was that scoffing? Mrs Turner? As if he won her and now showing it off. Fuck, as if he thinks he took my wife…

Wouldn’t be much of a fallacy, huh?

I told you to shut up.

He needed to somehow play it cool. Put aside his own twisted feelings and think of what’s better for Mabel - if she found out about his hostility towards her husband and linked it with his constant denials to come for dinner that would be really bad.

“Okay, ahem...” he cleared his throat before continuing “Can you maybe ask her to call me back when she’s awake then?”

“No problem at all. But, you know, I can tell her myself...”

“No no no, better if I tell her what I wanted to tell, thanks. Um...okay, b..”

“Oh, how things are going on your side, Mason? Haven’t heard from you for ages.”

Oh, son of a...why by name?

“Good, good. Yeah, so...”

“Heard you’ve got promoted. Got a position?”

“Well...um...not exactly, but...I’m working on it. Yeah, sorry for early ca...”

“And how’s the money? Do they pay you enough?”

Oh you impudent chuffed fuck.

Tell him.

“Enough for me, thanks. Well, okay I...”

“Look, we have a vacant position at stock exchange. Consultants are paid good and respected, so I thought maybe...”

“I’m not keen on idea of selling people something I don’t personally believe in, thank you.”

Shit, that was bad. Didn’t mean to sound so harshly.

He started it.

Shut up.

He heard Zach laughing on the other end. Damn, even insults are not working for him. He’s got his walls built solid.

“Why so determined? Believe me, after first salary when you start buying yourself some big men toys like cars you won’t say such immature things.”

Yeah, yeah. Teach me how to live my life, bitch.

“Well, if I were you I would think about it, Mason. I’d take it as an honor to help my family member.”

“Yeah, okay, cool. Um...” Come on, say something polite to end this “Have a nice day, Zach.”

“No it is? Okay, whatever you say. You’re a good man but you’re sometimes being silly, Pinetree.”

Dipper’s heart skipped a beat and he felt thunderstruck. All his muscles tightened. Given he was slouching, it seemed that his body’s fulcrum had shifted slightly above the rib cage.

“What did you call me?” asked Dipper his voice hardly above whispering.

“What? Old mocking nickname? Sorry, didn’t mean to...”

“What. Did. You. Call. Me?” repeated Dipper louder.

“Oh, c’mon, man. I’m sorry, for real, I...”

Can it be?..

I can’t see why not

No, that’s impossible. No, no..

Well, he told you she was sleeping, but do you trust him?

Mabel…

“Where is she?”

“Who? Mabel? Man, I told you she is leisuring...”

“Pass her the phone”

“Look, she’s really not ready to talk to anybody right now, you how she is. Man, like for real - I’m sorry if that upsets you, it wasn’t my inten...”

“Shut the fuck up, Zach!!!” Dipper growled, he could feel himself drowning in unimaginable paralyzing horor. “Where is my sister?!”

“Hey! Watch the language, pal!”

“Where is my sister?!”

“Piss off!”

“Where is Mabel?!!” Dipper broke into shouting. His breathing was heavy and ragged, he could feel his blood rushing to his head almost setting tips of his ears on fire. His face also grew unbearably hot.

“You know the address, you mental piece of human garbage!!! Come over and see where it leads you!!!”

His mind was rushing billion miles per hour. The boiler in his locomotive of a brain was about to blow up. Blood was pounding in his ears, he could literally feel his blood vessels filling up with pure adrenaline, he tasted metal in his mouth and there was something more with that taste. It was...was it?..

Wait, what does sulfur taste like?

He wasn’t listening to Zach’s shoutings on the other end of line anymore. He was paralyzed by that unaccountable fear. He couldn’t say anything, he couldn’t move - every tiny little cell of his body wasn’t answering his commands. It was a trap, he knew that. A blurred burning trap with spurts of flame dancing before him, licking his calves sending anguishing sensations to his muscles and to his brain. There were lizard’s eyes with narrow pupils everywhere, he couldn’t see them, but he was feeling watched by them. He could feel their glares cutting him like it was a straight razor, he could feel cold fingers digging through his head, twining around his eyeballs. And there was a voice - a woman was shouting his name. It was familiar but nontheless it was demanding razor to push deeper and deeper! Cutting him in two, then in four, then…

Deeper!

Deeper!

“DIPPER!!!”

In a heartbeat he was back into Mabel’s room in their Brooklyn flat; her was dragged him out of that horrifying vision. He was kneeling before the bed, clenching bedcover with his right hand and his cellphone with his left. He was breathing through gritted teeth loudly and heavily.

What was real out of all that?..

The only thing - her voice. A concerned voice of Mabel still calling his name, in which he could hear that she was on the verge of breaking into tears. She was scared - perhaps he and Zach woke her up with their banter and scared her a lot. And his heavy breathing distorted by the transmitter apparently wasn’t helping at all.

Keep it together, Pines, keep it together! Shake off this nightmare and tell her that you’re safe, that you’re fine.

Are you, though?

Yes! I’m fine, I’m totally fine!

But what about B…

He’s dead!!! He’s long gone!!! Mabel’s safe, she’s not dragged away from me into another dimension! She’s here, she’s actually relatively close.

I need to catch my breath. Okay, one in and one out...here we go…

“Dipper, please! Say something! Say something to me!” he could practically see the first teardrop rolling down her tender rosy cheek. “Dipper, I’m begging you!”

“Mabes, I...” at least the voice is...yep, it’s mine “I...my battery...it died so I had to walk home and...”

“Bro-bro, what are talking about?”

“I was staying late...so s’why I couldn’t...couldn’t come to dinner...yeah...I’m sorry. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Please tell me you’re okay, Dipper. Please tell me that.”

“Yeah, I am...Totally, Mabes, totally...”

“Are you sure?”

He gulped nervously listening to his unsteady breathing.

Telling lies again? Way to g…

“Yes, Mabel, everything’s well I swear” he tried to sound as calm as he could “I...s-sorry for waking you up.”

And he ended the call.

Splendid, my man.

Is that so hard to do? I said shut the fuck up. I need a drink.

***

On Friday he finally made it to work. Dressed in a black hoodie covered in stains of various food and sauces, worn out unwashed trousers of same color he was kind of a ghost to everyone else in the editorial office - no one would bother themselves waving him hello or even noticing him. He was sitting at his small desk in the open space surrounded by stacks of papers and office supplies. Obviously he forgot to take his laptop with him as well as his wallet. For some reason only valuable thing he had then was the most inappropriate one - his driver’s license, which was laying on the desk with his cellphone with already cracked screen.

Time was approaching lunch but food wasn’t even in top ten of his priorities. Frankly he could hardly remember when was the last time he actually consumed something apart from alcohol and cigarettes. Was it that morning? Or the morning before? And does a peanut butter and jelly toast count as food?

All that was in the background of his mind at that moment. The main screen of his mind was displaying various footage soaked with anxiety; each minute a bunch of viewers were collectively advising the main character on the white screen to take right turn or left or to head straight. And footages were constantly changing.

For the first time fear and pain started blending. Only one component was left…

“Pines!” a familiar voice called out for him. At least someone noticed his presence.

Paul Hempstead - the chief editor of essays department - was slowly approaching his desk, scanning through a stack of papers in his hands slowly.

“Good to see you again. Caught a bad cold?” he switched his attention from papers to his employee.

“My god” he gasped “What happened to your face?”

“I fell” Dipper said with colorless voice not even raising his eyes to look at editor.

“Right, you fell” as if taking a hint responded Paul “Okay, I won’t ask. I have a job for you. Are you going to lunch? I’ll explain while eating.”

“No, I’m not going” Dipper’s voice still wasn’t displaying any emotions.

Looking bewildered Paul stared at him as if thinking of whether or not he’s likely to ask any other questions about reasons. Dipper stayed motionless looking right before him into the void.

“Yeah, you’re right. Better right here” the editor fished a paper out of stack in his hands and laid it before Dipper. “A letter from a concerned mother. Her son’s getting oppressed by his scholl mates - he’s part of a certain subculture so his mother wants us to make it sound to the society. The letter is for gist, I wanted you to go there and find all the details. I assigned a photographer to them - he will be going on Monday. Your task is for today so we have our fresh essay on Tuesday. It’s in Huntington - you’ll be done in 3 or 4 hours.”

“Okay” followed a similarly lifeless answer.

Hempstead was expecting for something more verbose.

“Ho-o-ka-y” he slowly echoed stretching syllables “There are bus routes but car is easier. Works for you?”

He waved his hand at Dipper’s driving license.

“I don’t have a car”

“Oh. That’s wise, probably - such a big busy city...You can take a shared car. There’re lots of them on every corner. What do you say? Besides that way you’ll clear your evening.”

“I forgot my wallet home.”

Paul started losing hope.

“That’s a misfortune...Look, you can go to accountants and ask them for a prepayment. In fact...” He fished his wallet out of his trousers pocket and laid three 100 dollars bills before Dipper “Here, you’ll return on a payday. Just take your time to prepare, you know - go home, take a nap, change and all...”

Dipper lowered his eyes to look at the money and nodded slightly.

“Thank you Mr Hempstead” and added after second or two: “Can I go now?”

“For sure, Pines, for sure. Just don’t forget - deadline’s on Tuesday”

Not waiting for a response Paul rushed further down the aisle.

Dipper gave that money a look one more time, then grabbed it and his belongings from his desk and headed for exit.

When he was already at the door his phone buzzed. Even not looking at the screen he was already imagining her cute face, how she bit down her bottom lip waiting for him answer and twisting on of her locks.

This time he decided not to make the same mistake twice. He took his phone out of pocket, cleared his throat and tapped the green button.

***

He was standing naked and wet after taking a shower before the mirror in his bathroom examining his reflection. His cheeks started sinking, right cheekbone was bruised after he met wooden floor with it. He stopped caring about his hair long ago, there were scattered spots of messy stubble here and there. His shoulders were hunched even more than he remembered.

For the past two months Dipper got used to an idea that he wouldn’t see anything good in his reflection but every time it was really important to him to examine his appearance carefully. He still harboured some hope that eventually an alarm in his brain would break out he would start working on at least the simplest plan for recovery.

Not to say it wasn’t happening any time.

He was still feeling saturated after eating some fried eggs with bacon as soon as he came home from work. Even 6 hours of sleep he plunged into as soon as he laid down didn’t manage to drain that feeling but regained his somewhat mental and physical forces a bit.

He’s already failed Paul’s task, cause it was 9 in the evening and there’s no point to drive anywhere. That meant that he was in need to find some distraction to prevent his mind from once again spiralling down into anxiety and crimson blur.

Maybe I can use some fresh air. Like go to Central Park or cinema - anything but once again play ghost at the river’s embankment.

A vision appeared before his eyes - that one, that refused to go away for almost two months then. He was with her, hand in hand slowly moving across the park paths, he gently squeezes her hand, then lets it go only to hug her shoulders with it, she smiles, lays her head on his shoulder, their steps become slower, more relaxed…

Dipper downed a full glass of whiskey. The amber liquid started warming his chest, his stomach. It was such a false warmth that if he closed his eyes he could feel it as a light breeze, stuck between tree trunks in the heart of the park. He could feel it as her warm and gentle hands caressing his chest, so tiny and tender compared to sizes of her sweater…

Not exactly registering he downed another glass.

This is insane. You are! You can take her back, you can’t explain her anything! You can’t give her anything but your warmth!

Wouldn’t that be enough? Is there anybody who can give it to her?

No. NO!

No one can do that! No one will protect her but me!

Another glass downed.

Only I know her that much! Only I saw what this unfair world full of violences can do to her!

Another glass.

I fought demon for her! And I won! I saved my Mabel! My sweet, lovely Mabel.

Another.

What if he lives?

Impossible. He perished.

Yeah, but what if he survived?

He started drinking straight from the bottle.

What’s the matter? Are you scared? Oh, you should be. What were you thinking - you’ve jumped from that cliff once and that’s it? So you can sit around, having your time?

Shut up…

He knew there’s a car outside. And he’s got the keys. Also he knows what lies in his bottom drawer covered with kitchen blankets.

No, you shut up and listen. You abandoned her. Left her so that clown now can do whatever he wants. Do you know who he is? Have you spent a spare second studying what kind of man he is?

Shut up.

He tried to walk steadily and failed. A brass knuckles in his right pocket - a gift from Gruncle Stan - and bottle of whiskey in left hand weren’t helping in balancing at all. He got into a shared vehicle. If only he could start the engine…

Bravo! Just perfect, my boy! Guess what - you’ve got fooled! How hilarious is that?

Shut up.

He turned the engine but the impulse died instantly.

Our Big Master Dipper - a threat to all monsters and demons…

Shut up!

Another turn. And one more...Come on!

…a famous mysteries solver got fooled by some pathetic equilateral one-eyed…

SHUT UP!!!

PINETREE!!!

The engine roared coming to life. Dipper accelerated steering the car to the north-west away from the city - to a small countryside place in suburbs called New City.

[snicketsleuth]

Who burned down the Baudelaire mansion?

The series ended on an island but its bad beginning is still rife with controversy, confusion and contempt. As of today, we have no idea how the Baudelaire fire happened, or who escaped it, or why it was so important. In one of the most infuriating and frustrating pieces of dialogues Daniel Handler has ever written, we, the readers, are denied any answer to this mystery:

Klaus knelt down beside his sister, and stared into the villain’s shiny eyes. “You’re the one who made us orphans in the first place,” he said, uttering out loud for the first time a secret all three Baudelaires had kept in their hearts for almost as long as they could remember. Olaf closed his eyes for a moment, grimacing in pain, and then stared slowly at each of the three children in turn. “Is that what you think?” he said finally. “We know it,” Sunny said. “You don’t know anything,” Count Olaf said. “You three children are the same as when I first laid eyes on you. You think you can triumph in this world with nothing more than a keen mind, a pile of books, and the occasional gourmet meal.” He poured one last gulp of cordial into his poisoned mouth before throwing the seashell into the sand. “You’re just like your parents,” he said, and from the shore the children heard Kit Snicket moan. [Lemony Snicket - The End, Chapter Thirteenth]

There are about a million different ways to interpret Olaf’s reaction:

Someone else was actually responsible for burning down the mansion.

A group of several people (including Olaf) burned down the mansion for different reasons.

Olaf did burn down the mansion but the Baudelaire parents’ death had nothing to do with the fire, as at least one of them escaped the fire.

Olaf was coerced into killing the Baudelaire parents and was only an accomplice to the murder

Olaf feels that Bertrand and Beatrice are responsible for their own death and that they essentially brought it upon themselves

Klaus is more or less right but Olaf just enjoys not leaving the Baudelaire orphans any closure or certainty on this topic as a final "screw you" to his enemies.

The ambiguity of the universe and the inability to acquire perfect knowledge are major themes throughout the series, and Olaf’s ambiguous response is a testament. Nevertheless, there seems to be a kind of poignant sincerity in Olaf’s flippant dismissal. This is a dying man who has nothing left to lose; why would he lie? If a drama-queen has to make a final speech, said drama-queen uses it to send a deeply personal message. And the message here is that Klaus is… not wrong, exactly, but that his understanding of his parents’ death is biased and simplistic. Let’s take some time to examine Olaf’s point of view on the day of the Baudelaire fire.

Simply put: what the hell happened?

How Count Olaf voices his concerns (and why it matters)

It’s difficult to attest to what is going on in Klaus’ mind in Olaf’s final moments: his reaction is more emotional than rational. He doesn’t explain why Olaf is guilty, he just believes it on an almost spiritual level. This is a theory that Klaus has held onto for a very long time. The Baudelaire orphans know that Olaf is an arsonist since their aunt Josephine died. Olaf straight-up bragged about it to their faces:

Mr. Poe frowned, and coughed into his white handkerchief. "That's enough of your revolting talk, Olaf," he said sternly. "We've caught you now, and there's no way you'll be getting away. The Lake Lachrymose Police Department will be happy to capture a known criminal wanted for fraud, murder, and the endangerment of children." "And arson," Count Olaf piped up. [The Wide Window, Chapter Thirteen]

So from then on the Baudelaire orphans had serious reasons to believe that Olaf had burned down their home. Why is this never discussed throughout the series? Probably because the idea of their parents’ murder is so horrid, so unthinkable that the children prefer not to talk about it. It takes Ishmael committing genocide, Kit Snicket going into labor in an unsafe area and Olaf’s insistence that he was a competent guardian for Klaus to truly lose his temper and admit the truth he’s tried to hide for almost a year.

However, the Baudelaire orphans should know better. They’ve had more than enough to know that every time he’s started a fire or committed a horrible crime of any sort, he’s bragged about it. He only hides his involvement when an authority figure, legal representative or person he wants to manipulate is in the vicinity. There is no such person on the beach as he questions Klaus’ assertion, in fact he is not even aware of Kit Snicket’s presence, which is only brought up later in the conversation.

However, absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. When Olaf is confronted by an incorrect accusation of arson, he denies it unambiguously.

"I had Omeros keep this weapon handy," Ishmael said, "instead of tossing it in the arboretum, because I thought you might escape from that cage, Count Olaf, just as I escaped from the cage you put me in when you set fire to my home." "I didn't set that fire," Count Olaf said, his eyes shining bright. [The End, Chapter Eleven]

Notice how Olaf never denies putting Ishmael into the cage, his dismissal specifically concerns the arson. Considering that Ishmael is currently holding Olaf at harpoon-gun-point, his words are chosen very carefully as to not anger him even more. On that topic, it’s interesting to note that the Baudelaire orphans have picked up on one of Olaf’s tics: his eyes shine brightly whenever he distorts language to make a sinister joke.

His eyes were very, very shiny, which made him look both hungry and angry. "Hello, my children. Please step into your new home, and wipe your feet outside so no mud gets indoors." As they stepped into the house, Mr. Poe behind them, the Baudelaire orphans realized what a ridiculous thing Count Olaf had just said. The room in which they found themselves was the dirtiest they had ever seen, and a little bit of mud from outdoors wouldn't have made a bit of difference. [The Bad Beginning, Chapter Two]

"If I know you, Olaf," said the man with the hook-hands, "you'll figure out a way to get at that Baudelaire money." "We'll see," Count Olaf said, but his eyes were shining bright as if he already had an idea. [The Bad Beginning, Chapter Four]

"Mr. Poe told me," Count Olaf said, "that you appeared to be having some difficulty adjusting to the life I have so graciously provided for you. I'm very sorry to hear that." The children looked at Count Olaf. His face was very serious, as if he were very sorry to hear that, but his eyes were shiny and bright, the way they are when someone is telling a joke. [The Bad Beginning, Chapter Six]

Count Olaf's eyes grew very shiny, but he continued to smirk at Klaus. This was surprising. Klaus had guessed that once he announced what he knew, this dreadful man would have been very angry, even violent. After all, he'd had a furious outburst just because he'd wanted roast beef instead of puttanesca sauce. Surely, he'd be even more enraged to have his plan discovered. But Count Olaf just sat there as calmly as if they were discussing the weather. [The Bad Beginning, Chapter Eight]

"Where can she be indeed?" said a voice behind them, and the two children turned around. Count Olaf was standing in the doorway, watching Violet and Klaus as they searched the room. His eyes were shining brighter than they ever had, and he was still smiling like he'd just uttered a joke. [The Bad Beginning, Chapter Nine]

So in the above passage Olaf is definitely mocking Ishmael (a part of him is certainly toying with him to see if he has the guts to spill Olaf’s and spread the deadly spores of the Medusoid Mycelium). But his eyes do not shine when Klaus confronts him about his parents’ murder. Olaf was is, in fact, telling a joke when he tells the Baudelaire orphans they did not know anything about the fire which destroyed their home. He is not being opaque on purpose or playing mind-games. He is voicing legitimate, sincere concerns and grievances.

What Klaus believes (mistakenly)

Klaus does not explain why on Earth Olaf would want to kill the Baudelaire parents, but given what he knows at this point in the series, he can easily imagine three main motives:

PROFIT Killing off the Baudelaire parents would allow Olaf to gain custody of their children and from then on concoct schemes to steal their massive inheritance.

REVENGE Olaf’s parents were assassinated by Bertrand and Beatrice and Olaf wanted their children to endure the pain he felt after his own losses.

DUTY Olaf is part of the side of V.F.D. run by the Man With Beard But No Hair and the Woman With Hair But No Beard, two fanatics who terrify him and burn down buildings of rich children on a regular basis. If they ordered him to kill Bertrand and Beatrice (whom they have described as their enemies), Olaf would be compelled to obey.

Naturally, none of these motives are mutually exclusive. In fact, they combine quite well. Many mansions of rich families have been burned down because of V.F.D.’s schism and unifying theories have been proposed to explain why. Basically, Olaf’s motives could be summarized as such:

V.F.D. used to finance itself by kidnapping rich children and burning down their parents’ home, after which said young volunteers would be brainwashed into using their own fortune to help the organization (Link). Beatrice and Bertrand killed Olaf’s parents so that V.F.D. would gain a rich volunteer ready to finance their cause (Link). Then the schism happened: some remorseful volunteers (such as Bertrand and Beatrice) rejected the system altogether and vowed never to use violence again, while people like Olaf decided to steal fortunes for their own profit rather than that of the organization (Link). Olaf saw Beatrice and Bertrand as hypocrites who had never been truly punished for their actions and as soon as his two bosses allowed it, he decided to inflict on the Baudelaire orphans what had been inflicted upon him.

Klaus is certainly missing some pieces of the puzzle but has enough material to theorize that this is what truly happened. And it’s certainly what many readers of the series believe about Olaf, too.

Except Olaf’s reaction suggests that this interpretation is completely wrong. So what then? Was there a completely different reason to burn down the Baudelaire mansion? Why did Beatrice and Bertrand have to die?

In a predictable and unfortunate turn of events, it all comes back to the sugar bowl.

The timing of the Baudelaire fire (and its implications)

The first point we must examine is the timing of the event. We know that the Baudelaire parents and Olaf were enemies well before Violet was born. If Olaf hates them so much, why did he wait so many years to enact his revenge? How could Bertrand and Beatrice expect to keep their children safe in a city where their arch-nemesis could roam freely, in the public eye? Somehow, they must have had reason to believe Olaf wouldn't dare attack them. The most obvious answer is that Beatrice was the last known owner of the sugar bowl.

"Then you know all about the sugar bowl,” Esmé said, “and what’s inside. You know how important that thing was, and how many lives were lost in the quest to find it. You know how difficult it was to find a container that could hold it safely, securely, and attractively. You know what it means to the Baudelaires and what it means to the Snickets.” She took one sandaled step closer to Dewey, and stretched out one silver fingernail-the one shaped like an S-until it was almost poking him in the eye. “And you know,” she said in a terrible voice, “that it is mine.” “Not anymore,” Dewey said. “Beatrice stole it from me!” Esmé cried. “There are worse things,” Dewey said, “than theft.” [The Penultimate Peril, Chapter Nine]

As Dewey puts it, this put her in a position of power over Olaf, who wants it very badly. It's easy to imagine that he was condemned to simply observe the Baudelaire parents from afar, in the hope of learning where they were hiding the sugar bowl.

“It doesn’t matter, Baudelaires,” Jerome said. “Olaf won’t dare unleash the Medusoid Mycelium unless he gets his hands on the sugar bowl, and he’ll never find it.” [The Penultimate Peril, Chapter Eight]

Daniel Handler wrote a little-known supplement called "The Dismal Dinner" where he reveals important information about what happened shortly before the Baudelaire fire. The sugar bowl was being shown around in the Baudelaire mansion some days before the fire, and Olaf was watching. This means that there was a short lapse of time during which he more or less knew where the sugar bowl was hidden, before it was taken away someplace else. Olaf had a miraculous chance of getting his hands on the item, one and only one. This must have something to do with the fire.

My discovery of a torn pant leg shows that Sunny, an infant and the youngest Baudelaire child, played a key role in the dinner party held at the Baudelaire mansion quite some time before it was reduced to a smoking pile of rubble. Third-hand reports suggest that just after the sugar bowl was placed on the table, Sunny shrieked, "Funcoot!”, which either meant “My gums hurt!” or “I believe I may have seen someone lurking outside.” [The Dismal Dinner, part 3.]

Recent discoveries support my suspicions about the fateful event hosted by the Baudelaire parents before their death. Near the end of the meal, baby Sunny Baudelaire looked out the window and began to cry with a clarity and force that would soon characterize her ability to bite things. Her cries alarmed a number of guests who were in the process of passing around the sugar bowl. [The Dismal Dinner, part 4.]

But there is also another event which occurs shortly before the Baudelaire fire, this time revealed in the additional notes of "The Bad Beginning: Rare Edition". It concerns another fire, that of ther Royal Gardens, which happened some time before the start of the series. To put it plainly, Olaf failed to burn down a place where he was attempting to steal a poisonous plant, and Jacques reported it in the hope that the authorities would put two and two together and realize that his brother Lemony had been framed for Olaf’s crimes. You can read all about this theory here: (Link).

p.18 [The Baudelaire orphans] passed an enormous pile of dirt where the Royal Gardens once stood. For more information on the destruction of the Royal Gardens, interested parties might turn to the following articles in The Daily Punctilio, the city’s newspaper: “Arson suspected in Destruction of Royal Gardens,” by Jacques Snicket, and “Absolutely No Arson or Any Other Suspicious Thing Associated with the Royal Gardens, which Simply Burned to the Ground and Then Were Covered in Dirt Due to Wind, Says Official Fire Department,” by Geraldine Julienne. [The Bad Beginning: Rare Edition, p.175]

So two very important things happen a few days before the Baudelaire fire:

Jacques is working hard to prove that Olaf is an arsonist, and Justice Strauss is going to be assigned on the case.

Count Olaf is aware that the sugar bowl is being kept inside the Baudelaire mansion.

These two facts combine to explain what may have happened on the morning of the fire.

But most important is the fact that Olaf is indeed implied to have been present inside the Baudelaire mansion on that day…

p.6 One of the things Violet, Klaus, and Sunny really liked about their parents was that they didn’t send their children away when they had company over, but allowed them to join the adults at the dinner table… The Baudelaire table was not used exclusively for dinner. Its surface was handy for unrolling maps, completing jigsaw puzzles, and tracing the faces of people from photographs. One thing I remember from my time at the table was that it was always necessary to use a coaster underneath one’s beverage so as to not leave an unsightly ring on the wood. [The Bad Beginning: Rare Edition, pp.171-172]

p.98 But Count Olaf just sat there as calmly as if they were discussing the weather. Certain kinds of weather-severe rainstorms, for instance-have a dampening effect on fires, which is displeasing to arsonists. There have been reports of alleged arsonists so reportedly displeased with the weather that they have been rumored to pound their beverages on an unprotected wooden table. [The Bad Beginning: Rare Edition, p.179]

…and that he was apparently invited there by the Baudelaire parents:

p.2 The three Baudelaire children lived with their parents in an enormous mansion at the heart of a dirty and busy city, and occasionally their parents gave them permission to take a rickety trolley-the word “rickety”, you probably know, here means “unsteady” or “likely to collapse”-alone to the seashore… On that particular occasion, the Baudelaire parents not only gave their children permission but encouraged them to leave the house, as the adults had some pressing business to attend to. This business was delayed indefinitely due to death. Also note that the trolley has since collapsed, and its remains were recycled into the foundation of a hotel. [The Bad Beginning: Rare Edition, p.171]

pp.12-13 Here and there, the children could see traces of the home they had loved: fragments of their grand piano, an elegant bottle in which Mr. Baudelaire had kept brandy, the scorched cushion of the windowseat where their mother liked to sit and read. Curiously enough, Mr. Baudelaire’s brandy bottle was found on the remains of the dining table, with no coasters nearby. This would indicate that either the coasters were burned beyond recognition, or the Baudelaires had received a visitor who had no manners whatsoever. [The Bad Beginning: Rare Edition, pp.173-174]

There seems to be a number of odd coincidences there. With their knowledge of the sugar bowl’s relevance and the Jacques’ ongoing investigation of Olaf’s crimes, the Baudelaire parents actually have a lot of control over the situation at this point. Is it possible that they lured Olaf into their house? Was his presence part of a secret plan?

Why the Baudelaire fire resembles the Denouement fire (for all the right reasons)

"A Series of Unfortunate Events" largely deals with the problem of history repeating itself, particularly when it comes to the cycles of violence. Sons and daughters follow in their forbearers’ footsteps and commit the same kind of mistakes, never learning anything. Near the end of the saga, the Baudelaire children discover that Olaf was orphaned by their parents for something related to V.F.D., and that he seems to do what he does based on retribution. Furthermore, the schism which broke the organization is followed by several smaller, similar schisms: the separation of Klaus and Fiona, the mutiny of the Islanders, etc. Many events of the past and present are explicitly presented as parallel to each other.

In many ways one would think that, the most logical way to uncover the truth about the Baudelaire fire is to compare it to a similar fire. Let's see what we know:

It had something to do with the sugar bowl being exchanged there and Olaf wanting to get his hands on it.

The fire happens in relation to a big investigation regarding Olaf’s crimes.

One or several characters may have survived and their fate is left ambiguous by Lemony in the narration. Lemony himself might have been there.

The existence of a secret underground complex changes the entire meaning of the event.

As the similarities pile up, it becomes clear that the set-up of the Baudelaire fire clearly mirrors the one which destroyed Hotel Denouement. And there is reason to believe that the sugar bowl is actually a red herring, a sinking lure that the “noble” side of V.F.D. uses to get the other side where they want them, when they want them (Link). The entire sugar bowl chase in “The Penultimate Peril” is actually an elaborate trap set up by Dewey and his allies to arrest Olaf and his allies, and to put them on trial in the Hotel Denouement’s lobby where all evidence of their crimes will be presented to the judges of the High Court.

The Baudelaire fire was a trial version of the Denouement fire. The Baudelaire parents made sure that Olaf knew that the sugar bowl was being kept there, to use his greed against him. Then they invited him into their home on a false pretext, knowing he would waste time trying to find the Vessel For Disaccharides. In the meantime, Jacques was supposed to present the results of his investigation to the police. The authorities would then come to the Baudelaire mansion and arrest Olaf.

This scenario is key to understand why the building eventually caught fire.

Why Olaf burned down the Baudelaire mansion (as he tried to retrieve the sugar bowl)

There's a particularly strange detail about the scene of the crime which everyone in the series overlooked: the broken pieces of the brandy bottle. Now, anyone who read the un-Authorized Autobiography can tell you that brandy is traditionally drunk at V.F.D. committee reunions. So the fact that the bottle is highlighted by Handler, and presented out of its liquor cabinet, must be significant. Firstly, it reinforces the idea that some discussion related to V.F.D. was going on while the children were having fun at the beach.

pp.12-13 Here and there, the children could see traces of the home they had loved: fragments of their grand piano, an elegant bottle in which Mr. Baudelaire had kept brandy, the scorched cushion of the windowseat where their mother liked to sit and read. Curiously enough, Mr. Baudelaire’s brandy bottle was found on the remains of the dining table, with no coasters nearby. This would indicate that either the coasters were burned beyond recognition, or the Baudelaires had received a visitor who had no manners whatsoever. [The Bad Beginning: Rare Edition, pp.173-174]

J— Please pass the brandy. [Lemony Snicket’s un-Authorized Autobiography, p.37]

After the pudding, the older gentleman of my acquaintance and I retired to an enormous, imposing living room to enjoy and after-dinner brandy, and the arcane smile returned to his face as a number of older gentlemen not of my acquaintance joined us, clearly for some sort of meeting. [Lemony Snicket’s un-Authorized Autobiography, p.xiv]

Secondly, however, it brings up a much more salient point: why was the bottle broken? Glass melts easily under fire, and in fact Daniel Handler makes a point of showing a glass instrument which has melted because of the damage caused by the heat. Alcohol is flammable, so a brandy bottle should burn even more easily as the liquid ignited. And yet the bottle is clearly well-preserved enough for the children to recognize it as their father's brandy bottle immediately. It's in shards, so it would have to be barely burned for any identification. How is this possible?

The solution to this problem is that Olaf poured the brandy out of the bottle on a particularly flammable object (a book?), and used his matches to light a fire in the Baudelaire library. He then kept the empty bottle on his person as he ran to the other side of the house. This side of the house was less affected by the fire as the fire department had arrived by the time the flames caught up with him.

"The fire department arrived, of course," Mr. Poe said, "but they were too late. The entire house was engulfed in fire. It burned to the ground. " Klaus pictured all the books in the library, going up in flames. Now he'd never read all of them. [The Bad Beginning, Chapter One]

Olaf's main goal was to escape, yes, but he also had a secondary objective in mind: in the heat of the brazier, the sugar bowl would be threatened and the Baudelaire parents would have no choice but to retrieve it from its safe. It was the quickest, easiest way for Olaf to learn where it was hidden and to get his hands on it. This tactic is used with some success by Sherlock Holmes in the story "A scandal in Bohemia".

The Baudelaire parents soon realized that a fire had started in their home and decided to split. Beatrice went to the library where she attempted to salvaged as many V.F.D. documents as she could, and to retrieve the sugar bowl from its hiding place. The Baudelaire library indeed holds many documents precious to V.F.D. and the Baudelaire parents were always afraid that a fire would destroy them:

"Our mother would get mad, too," Klaus said. "Remember, Violet, when we left the window of the library open, and that night it rained?" "She really flew off the handle," Violet said, using a phrase which here means "became extremely angry." "We spoiled an atlas that she said was irreplaceable." "You should have heard her yell," Klaus said. "Our father came down from his study to see what was the matter." "And then he started yelling, too," Violet said, and the Baudelaires paused and looked at one another uncomfortably. [The Grim Grotto, Chapter Seven]

"And sometimes you burn the toast," Klaus said, and they smiled. They were both remembering a time when the two of them got up early to make a special breakfast for their parents. Violet had burned the toast, and their parents, smelling smoke, had run downstairs to see what the matter was. When they saw Violet and Klaus, looking forlornly at pieces of pitch-black toast, they laughed and laughed, and then made pancakes for the whole family. [The Bad Beginning, Chapter Three]

Bertrand, meanwhile, ran after Olaf to prevent his escape and to make sure he wasn't following Beatrice to the sugar bowl's hiding place. Olaf was apprehended by Bertrand but broke the empty brandy bottle to make a shiv, and stabbed him in (debatable) self-defense. Bertrand fell to the floor as he bled from the stab wounds and Olaf jumped out a window. His body would later be destroyed by the flames. Beatrice, meanwhile, got badly burned trying to secure the sugar bowl and her books and soon found herself trapped. Her only escape was the secret passageway under the house, where she remained for quite some time. For more information on how Beatrice could have survived the fire, read this theory: (Link).

How other passages of the series mirror the event (through symbols)

There is indeed reason to believe that the brandy was used to ignite the fire and that its broken pieces were used to create a shiv: the plot quite literally spells it out for us. In "The Bad Beginning", Klaus and Violet find themselves trapped in Olaf's lair. The only items at their disposal are Olaf's empty wine bottles, scattered around. Violet Baudelaire, in a typical display of thuggish swagger, suggests flaming alcohol and a shiv as an escape plan. And the Baudelaire fire happens in the same book, too! How fitting would it be for the Baudelaire children to re-enact the method that Olaf used to burn down their house... to burn down his own house?

"If we had any kerosene," Violet said, around noon, "I could make Molotov cocktails with these bottles." […] "They're small bombs made inside bottles," Violet explained. "We could throw them our the window and attract the attention of passersby." […] "We could break these bottles in half," Violet said, "and use them as knives, but I'm afraid that Count Olaf's troupe would overpower us." [The Bad Beginning, Chapter Eleven]

The similarities do not end there: let's go back to the Hotel Denouement fire. How did Olaf light it, exactly? A burning book, right next to dangerous chemicals. The scene is described as unsettling. Part of that, of course, has to do with the fact that our protagonists value education and that autodafés bring up very distasteful connotations. On another level, however, it's possible that this method of arson subconsciously reminds them of the way Olaf destroyed their own home. It's no wonder they bring up this possibility in the next book. The lighting of the book acts as a triggering event: it's the moment the children actually admit to themselves that Olaf probably murdered their parents.

The Baudelaires leaned forward to see if they could read what the injustice expert had written, and caught only the word "passageway" before Olaf lit a match and tossed it expertly onto the page. The paper caught on fire at once, and the book began to burn. […] "We'd best get away from here," Count Olaf said, breaking the silence. "In my experience, once the flames reach the chemicals, the fire will spread very quickly. [The Penultimate Peril, Chapter Thirteen]

So, to come back to our initial question... did Olaf burn down the Baudelaire mansion? Is he the one who made the Baudelaire children orphans in the first place? Well... it could that Olaf answers neither "yes" or "no" because any negative or positive statement would be simplistic. Technically, one could indeed make a case for Olaf being responsible for the fire, and for Bertrand's death. Then again, the murder and arson were a means to an end, not an end in itself. Olaf's personal vendetta against the Baudelaire parents actually played very little role in the Baudelaire fire. Mostly the culprit seems to have acted the way he always has: as a ruthless thief willing to destroy anything in its path to get the treasure he so desperately wants. Yet in many ways, his behavior was that of a beast trapped in a cage, improvising a desperate escape. Besides, no one forced the Baudelaire parents to hatch a sinister plot to entrap Olaf in their home, or Beatrice to save the books instead of running outside to safety, or Bertrand to catch Olaf instead of helping his wife escape. They were also, on a metaphorical level, "playing with fire".

[plumoh]

[TodoBaku] in your memories

Word count: 3575

Summary: This is just another story, and yet it is not. / Gang!AU

Note: AO3 link. Gang!Todoroki, bartender!Bakugou. Inspired by this fanart.

Day 4 - AU: in your memories

The bar is never noisy. This is a peculiarity that Shouto has never found an answer to, but he won't complain; he appreciates much more quiet places than places that make his ears buzz and his head spin. The windows are always clean, giving a perfect view of what's inside, and Shouto can easily distinguish what kind of atmosphere is floating just from looking. He adjusts the tie around his neck, tugs on his black gloves, and pushes the door open. The tingling of the small bell announces his presence, and immediately the bartender shoots him the most deadpan expression he's ever worn since their first meeting. (Their first meeting goes way back, five or six years before.)

“Look who's late,” he says.

“Look who didn't give me a precise time,” Shouto replies easily, striding towards the counter.

The tables are almost all occupied, ranging from families taking a short break, to couples stealing time to themselves, to people who came alone to seek some peace. The bar is situated in a back street that is more frequented by stray cats than by normal people. Shouto thinks it's better that way, considering the temper of the owner and the services that are provided in the establishment, not necessarily of poor quality, but presenting a rather dangerous edge that normal people wouldn't want to come across.

He takes a seat by the counter (the only seat available, right in the middle, in front of the bartender), and casually folds his hands on it. He doesn't say anything, just stares at red eyes that are gauging him, as if it will magically dissipate the tension between them. Shouto has rarely seen such a vivid and beautiful color; many people compliment his blue eye, and go as far as saying that his scar makes it even more alluring, which of course Shouto doesn't take too kindly.

“Around nine pm means around nine pm, it's fucking ten,” the bartender growls.

“Well, I did have some business to attend to before coming here, you're not the only busy one,” Shouto almost drawls.

Katsuki snorts and gives him the finger, totally unnecessary and uncalled for, but Shouto doesn't care. The man sitting next to him glances curiously at them, but he quickly gazes back down at his beverage when Shouto looks back at him. People possess indecent curiosity.

Katsuki puts a glass of whiskey on the counter. Shouto didn't order anything—this sort of became his default drink, since whenever he comes, Katsuki serves him the same. He nods at him, and takes his first sip. The icicles clink against the glass, a satisfying sound that never fails to make Shouto smile, strangely enough.

“And it never crossed your mind you could, I don't know, send a fucking text?”

Shouto puts down the glass, and his smile is still stretching his lips, amused, serene.

“I didn't peg you for the worrying one.”

“Fuck off, Shouto.”

Shouto simply hums, observing with delight Katsuki's growing red face. It has always been easy to rile him up, a small comment could set him off like an explosive and nobody could do anything about it. To be honest, Katsuki was the first one to initiate the snipping, and over the years, Shouto's indifference grew into a playful interest.

Look at where it landed him.

“What did you want to talk about?” he asks, sobering up.

Katsuki regains composure. His whole body squares up, his eyes focus on Shouto's face and his hands casually slide into his pants' pockets (Shouto wants to tell him he should appear more professional, but he knows it'd fall on deaf ears).

“There was a rise.”

Someone is calling for Katsuki in the room, so he goes to attend to them. Shouto gazes into the amber of his whiskey, diluted by the icicles, and takes another sip.

***

They exit the bar way past midnight, after the last customer leaves with a generous tip. Katsuki turns the key into the lock, lowers the shutter, and they set off. They walk silently, side by side, shoulders brushing but never making the contact last, eerily quiet in the streets that hold secrets they don't want to disturb. Shouto dislikes wearing his suit, but it's a look that blends into the crowd; somehow it's enough to put past questions about his ugly scar.

When they round a corner, Katsuki comes to an abrupt stop and slams into Shouto. Were it anyone else Shouto would have cut their fingers without a second of hesitation, but Katsuki's weight is a familiar one, pressed against his chest, arms snaking around his waist and lips hungry for sensations Shouto is more than happy to provide. Ironically, for all the times they threw poisoned remarks at each other, they don't need words in the heat of this moment. Shouto probably wouldn't recognize it, but the both of them are way more similar than they think they are, and it took four years for him to realize that the thick aura enveloping Katsuki is made of a loneliness that Shouto can assimilate all too well. They resonate, maybe unwillingly, but this drew them together in the first place, despite their obvious outward differences shaping their life.

Shouto grabs Katsuki's shoulders, steadying himself and leaning forward, applying more pressure on his lips, while Katsuki makes a vague noise of protest, maybe because he still doesn't like feeling he's being interrupted in something, even though it shouldn't be the case in that situation. For a moment it's only the sound of their lips moving and taking what they find, hands traveling up and down any parts of their bodies like they are searching for a treasure, not delicate but not rough either, rustling of clothes betraying the impatience that escalates with every passing minute. Heat is growing inside his stomach and shivers run down his spine, and Shouto has to remember that, empty street or not, he's not going to let himself get carried away.

Apparently Katsuki has the same thought despite his initial fervor, as he pulls back, resting his forehead on Shouto's shoulder, heavy panting from them both replacing all previous sounds.

“It's getting dangerous,” Katsuki whispers.

“It was dangerous right from the beginning,” Shouto answers on the same tone.

Katsuki doesn't say anything else. Instead, he takes Shouto's hand, and leads the way.

***

Shouto can't stay in the morning. He gets up, picks up his clothes piece by piece, careful in his movements and not to be noisy, and he leaves the apartment. Activities are often perpetuated at night, but he believes that sending an early warning can't hurt anyone in the vicinity.

(He trusts Katsuki, so he didn't bother hiding his weapons in a special hideout; he just needed to grab them from the kitchen counter, where he left them last night.)

The city is already bustling with life. People are following their routine, and so is Shouto. He steps into the district, knowing full well where he's headed, even without the many men shooting him glares and provocations. They're of no importance, and they probably don't know who they are up against, either.

Shouto marches straight into a courtyard, pulls out his gun, and fires a single bullet.

The entirety of the courtyard and the people eavesdropping from the building's windows jump on their feet, but Shouto remains calm, holding up a hand, the other one gripping his gun lowered.

“I'm not here to fight. Stay away from my territory, and consider this our farewell.”

Of course, in Shouto's ideal world, people would take a hint and do as they're asked, but since this isn't the world he lives in, a henchman lunges at him, classical boy acting on instincts regardless of his boss not having said a word yet. Shouto easily gets a hold of the boy's arm, twists it and holds it behind his back, and blocks his footing with his leg.

“I said that this is farewell.”

He locks eyes with the boss; he's a man a bit older than Shouto, more experienced with many years of mutual altercations, and though he radiates with irritation and a desire to smash Shouto's face into pieces, he knows he shouldn't talk back.

This is enough for Shouto. He releases the boy, ignores the insults hurtled at him, and walks away, just like how he walked in.

“We haven't made a move in weeks. Did you send a spy in our ranks?”

He doesn't need a spy when he has the biggest mine of information as a resident pain in the heart.

***

If his gun feels too impersonal, he uses his knife; blood trickling down the blade, splattering on the ground and on his clothes, smearing his face with more red than he already has, provides an incredible sensation of having accomplished something. Shouto has killed, killed and killed as far back as he can remember, blade in hand or orders at his lips, and he surrounds himself with that veil of hardened numbness to fight off what happens around him. Dead bodies don't have any reasons to affect him anymore. His subordinates often tell him that the newcomers are always afraid of him because of his scary presence, much like a king's to whom bowing is instinctive. It doesn't matter, he isn't the leader of the most powerful gang to be friends with its members.

(Is befriending someone outside of the gang any better?)

He can escape guilt whenever the current situation springs on him.

“I literally came yesterday in your territory to warn you. How come you are here today?���

“You only caught me today, I've been here for weeks,” the intruder spits.

“Interesting. Tell me more about your reasons for spying on us. Wait,” Shouto holds up a hand, nods to one of his henchman. The latter pulls out a knife and puts it near the man's neck. “I think you are smart enough to guess what is going to happen to you.”

For the first time in a long time, Shouto sees someone at death's gates smiling at his fate.

“Gonna die either way.”

He breaks free of the hold the people had on him, and without even sparing a glance at anyone he cuts his own throat. His body falls on the floor in the most deafening silence. Blood is pooling beneath him, bright and familiar.

Shouto sighs.

“A courageous man. Dispose of the body, I have someone to interrogate.”

It is weird that nobody, even himself, didn't notice the intruder, if what he says is true. Shouto appointed a trusted man to make sure that everyone in the base is a familiar face, and that every newcomer is accompanied by a veteran. How did this pass under his radar?

He easily finds him; they have specific tasks every day, and it would have been even more suspicious if he wasn't in his usual place. Denki turns around in his chair, removing his headphone, and Shouto looks at the multiple screens displaying different parts of the base. Nothing seems wrong.

“What's up, boss?”

He wears his usual smile, an expression that doesn't match the job he's doing. But not everyone has to look like it's their last day on earth to be part of this underground world, and Shouto would be lying if he said that he'd prefer seeing Denki acting like a cold-blooded schemer.

“Didn't you notice someone infiltrated our base?” he quietly asks, gazing directly into Denki's eyes.

Denki has the unfortunate tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve. He is too good to be involved in shady affairs, which is why Shouto assigned him to internal work.

But even in internal work, he managed to be influenced. Shouto tries not to be disappointed when Denki's gaze drops to his knees. Would it have been less suspicious if he laughed it off?

“No, I didn't notice...” Denki trails off, gesturing to the screens.

“Denki, we don't know what kind of information he delivered to our rival group. It can trigger our downfall.”

“I know...”

Shouto doesn't quite tower over Denki, but the way Denki shrinks on himself, almost like he's just a small kid caught stealing a cookie, gives the advantage to Shouto. Denki probably knows that his boss won't like his answer.

“You're not fired, and I'm not going to get angry,” Shouto says, on the same tone, not pushing too much.

“Uh, I think you're going to get angry,” Denki retorts, which makes Shouto raise an eyebrow. “I hid stuff and it's not pretty.”

“Just tell me everything.”

And finally, Denki lifts his gaze, not steel hard, but not mellow either, as if he was feeling sorry not for himself but for Shouto.

“I got a bargain. Let a spy in the base, and they'd give me money and weapons. They also threatened my best friend, but. Well. Sorry, boss.”

“Who came to you?” Shouto can't remember anyone willingly walking into their territory to speak to the head of his men. Denki's look of pure desolation strikes him head-on.

“Have you heard of Explosive Drink's?”

***

Shouto waits until it's dark. Waits at the door past midnight, watching the last customer leave the building, and he steps inside. The tables are clean, the chairs turned over, and the glasses put away. Water is running. Shouto feels it safe to assume it was a busy day.

He walks towards the counter, but he doesn't sit. Instead, he gets around it, slowly, and stands a few steps away from him. Katsuki raises his head, hands still scrubbing at the last plate.

“What?” he says, as agreeable as ever.

“Do all your customers have some kind of importance?” Shouto asks, unperturbed.

“If by importance you mean they get high on exchanging smokes, drugs, sharp toys and all that stuff, then yeah.”

Katsuki closes the tap, dries the plate with a rug, and puts it in the cupboard. He flings the cloth over his shoulder, then narrows his eyes at Shouto.

“What's up with you?”

Shouto is always wearing his suit when he goes out; white shirt, black jacket, black pants, black tie, black gloves, just the typical clothes. Katsuki has seen him countless times dressing and undressing, he knows where he keeps his belongings, he knows which pocket holds what.

Shouto slides his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket, and just as fast, Katsuki makes a move to slap his hands away but Shouto is quicker. He turns to the side to protect himself and he slams Katsuki into the counter, one hand gripping Katsuki's collar and the other pointing the gun to his head, and if Katsuki's eyes weren't constantly fire ablaze, they'd be burning right now.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?!” he yells, fists clenched at his sides.

“How long have you been playing for both sides?” Shouto's voice is tight.

The question only channels further fury into Katsuki.

“'Both sides'? Are you fucking kidding me? I'm not on anyone's side, fucker.”

“I don't believe you.”

“Well don't fucking believe me, be naive in your sorry corner of a territory.”

Katsuki attempts to move but Shouto presses the gun harder on his temple. He doesn't feel it through his gloves.

“Katsuki. Answer me.”

“You're delusional, Shouto.”

Katsuki's hands are uncharacteristically slow whenever he touches Shouto's body, and no matter how many times Shouto told him he wasn't made of glass, Katsuki never stopped. This time isn't any different; fingers are running around his waist, reach the small satchel on his belt, and retrieve a pocket-knife. Shouto lets him. The tip of the pocket-knife faces his chest. Katsuki doesn't look enraged anymore though some traces remain on his features, but his eyes are still red defiance.

“I never made an allegiance or whatever to you,” he explains, barely any emotions coloring his words.

Barely doesn't mean none. Surprise isn't one of them; it's more of resignation, Shouto doesn't dare think it's regret.

“I don't want to kill you,” Shouto whispers.

“What, you're going to let me kill you instead? Don't be an idiot,” Katsuki snorts. “I can stab you to death.”

“I'd fire the second you plunge that knife into me.”

“You said you don't want to.”

“It doesn't mean I won't.”

“Stop fucking playing with words, bastard.”

“Who is the one playing here?”

Katsuki scowls. With the hand not holding the knife, he pushes the gun away, slowly, always slow with his hands, not breaking eye contact with Shouto. So much can happen in these seconds, so much can turn wrong or right. The choice is theirs.

“What do you want?” The words are much more alive, crimson determination.

“I don't know.”

So typical, pathetically cliché. Shouto thought he could avoid this sort of dilemma. He's a fool for covering his eyes with the feeling of yearning and comfort.

He takes a step back, Katsuki straightens, their hands still linked by the gun, one atop the other. The pocket-knife is dropped on the floor. Katsuki grabs Shouto's shoulder, squeezes, pouring his entire heart in that single powerful gesture.

“I never made an allegiance,” he repeats, firm. “I gave information to you. I gave information to everyone. That's my fucking job, I don't care whose money it is. I'm not gonna be picky and get my ass killed.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Shouto replies softly.

“Put the damn thing away before you shoot yourself in the foot like the dumbass you are. I'm not armed.”

“You are a close-combat fighter, Katsuki.”

Katsuki shrugs. Shouto shakes his head, and does as he's told. The gloves are thick, neither the cold of the metal nor the warmth of Katsuki's hand is palpable, but he knows they are here, mingling in his own warmth. Gloves won't protect himself from what's bursting inside.

He picks up the knife and puts it away, too. All the while Katsuki remains silent, following every movement of Shouto. All their cards have been revealed, left open and unattended—what should they do, now?

(Some part of Shouto cracks, another welcomes the relief.)

“You led a spy into my ranks,” he says.

“Yeah. Good deal for me and that Kaminari guy.”

“How many were your doing?”

“For the past five years? Dunno. I don't count.”

The nonchalance is almost vexing, cutting deep into Shouto's skin, but he should have been expecting it; Katsuki isn't like Denki, he doesn't rely on his emotions to think and act. It doesn't ease the pain.

“I don't know what I should do,” Shouto admits with a barely audible sigh.

“You expect me to give an answer? Fat chance,” Katsuki chuckles, but there is no mirth.

He's once again slid his hands into his pockets. Shouto doesn't mind, this time. He wouldn't know what to do with his hands either were he Katsuki.

“Trust was never the matter, I suppose,” Shouto continues. “I trusted you. Still do, I think. It just puts everything into new perspectives.”

“Look, nobody is chaining you here, if you wanna go and disappear then be my guest. I'm not gonna beg you or some shit.”

In a movie, Katsuki would have taken out a cigarette and smoked, dragging a long grey trail, emphasizing how many fucks he gave to the situation. Can't be helped, Shouto guesses, that the one selfish decision he makes stabs him in the back. His head is a mess of what-ifs and shoulds, of memories and subsequent regrets, and honestly he just wants to wake up to the reality he's been living in until today. It's a fucking joke.

“I was serious when I said I didn't want to kill you. You... I... I became attached.”

Shouto doesn't meet Katsuki's gaze.

“Pretty stupid of me, I'd say. Becoming attached to someone with my kind of job? It was a direct way to send me to my downfall.”

“Shouto, listen the fuck to me.”

Katsuki's voice is dripping with so much harshness, a command from the mouth of someone manipulating words and meanings, that Shouto is irrevocably drawn to him.

“Do whatever the fuck you want. I know I'm not the best person to be around. We were fucking, not dating.”

Five or six years, Shouto can't remember, but that many years can't result in nothing. He narrows his eyes. “I wouldn't call our relationship just fuck buddies.”

“I do, so stop overthinking that shit.”

Katsuki drops his shoulders, scowl stretching his features, and he walks past Shouto. He bumps into his arm, and suddenly Shouto jolts awake, flashes of all the sensations he's felt ever since he met him, brewing like a storm waiting to clap. He whirls around.

“Katsuki, I still believe in you,” he declares, hating how his voice threatens to crack. “I'm being stupid right now. I know you're not as emotionless as you try to be.”

Katsuki stops in his tracks, though his back still faces Shouto. He's listening.

“I don't want to lose you.”

The hardest words he's afraid of saying and hearing, tumble out of his mouth, from desperation maybe, from sheer confusion, and here he is, clenching his fists and wishing, hoping, searching.

Katsuki finally turns his head, just like how he would on the busy days, when Shouto approaches the counter and would stare at the back of his head until he notices.

“See ya later, Shouto.”

One final smile, and he's gone.

Shouto closes his eyes, and looks into the future.

[theguineapig3]

“The Renegade”

While the Desian defector had at least hoped to get farther than a few kilometers from the ranch before he met his fate at the hands of one of the Four Seraphim, he was willing to accept his punishment. But when he found himself receiving sympathy rather than judgment, he couldn’t help his suspicions. Why would someone in such a high position risk his status for the sake of someone else’s vengeance?

Tales of Symphonia Week, Day 5: Judgment Characters: Botta, Yuan Ka-Fai Words: 2,901 Rating: T (for graphic violence, because Magnius is a JERKFACE)

[Hi, hello, here’s my obligatory Botta/Renegades story because I love the Renegades brotp and I also love to invent horrible heart-wrenching backstories for characters who, like Botta, don’t get a tragic backstory in canon. Because every Tales character deserves their own Tragic Backstory™.]

Word traveled fast within Cruxis. Botta knew that. He knew that word of the riot at the ranch and the subsequent events would be relayed all the way up to Yggdrasil within a few hours. By then he’d hoped to be on a ship, somewhere out at sea beyond the reach of their surveillance. But it wouldn’t be easy. Magnius had not been happy, and his other minions would surely be making their way to Palmacosta as well.

Funny, how the comrades that Botta had come to rely on were ready to punish him for his misbehavior with no thought to the reasoning behind his actions. Why had it taken him so long to realize how thoroughly Cruxis had brainwashed them all?

Unfortunately, Botta seemed to have underestimated his injuries. He was dragging behind, struggling to clamber back down the mountainside and considering stopping in Thoda to rest before moving on. He was still wearing most of his Desian uniform, after all, and could order the locals to provide him with any medicine and care he desired. But his pride got the better of him and he decided against it. It would delay his arrival in Palmacosta too much, and Thoda’s “fleet” consisted of nothing but washtubs with makeshift oars- unsuitable for a runaway wanting to disappear into the sea.

But Botta never made it to Palmacosta. He never even made it to Thoda.

Instead, after tripping on a patch of unsteady gravel on the hillside and beginning to pick himself up, he heard a voice from behind him. It surprised him, only because he hadn’t heard any sign of movement nearby. Whoever it was must have appeared out of thin air.

“Need a little help, there?”

The mana he felt indicated a half-elf, but it wasn’t Magnius’ voice, or the voice of any Desians he recognized. Botta turned his head, unable to turn the rest of his body in his current condition, and the first thing that caught his eye was the pair of luminescent wings shining behind the figure. This was no ordinary half-elf. This was an angel.

And not just any angel either.

“...Lord Yuan?”

Yuan stared, raising an eyebrow. “I asked if you needed help. Or do you just want to die out here?”

Botta cringed and squeezed his injured arm. “Did Lord Yggdrasil send you here after me? I can’t imagine Magnius having any power over one of the Four Seraphim.”

To Botta’s surprise, Yuan actually sat down next to him. “No one sent me here. Magnius reported on the riot, the casualties, and, of course on your little outburst. You’re in real hot water, you know that? No matter how recently Magnius might’ve been appointed, picking a fight with any Grand Cardinal is a major offense.”

“So are you here to punish me?”

Yuan let out a pensive hum. “Are you looking for punishment?”

“If I were looking for punishment, do you think I’d be running away?” Botta replied with a pained laugh. “But I don’t suppose that matters now that you’re here. What is your objective? Are you going to take me back to the ranch? Or are you going to go over Magnius’ head and take me straight to Lord Yggdrasil?”

“Eh, I still haven’t decided,” Yuan answered with a shrug. “What would you prefer?”

“You’re asking me what I’d prefer? Doesn’t that defeat th-” Botta started with a rebuttal, but he was stopped by a cough and took a moment to catch his breath. He tried to hide the blood that he’d coughed onto his hand, but it was likely Yuan saw it anyway. “-d-doesn’t that defeat the purpose of punishment?”

Yuan shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps. But sometimes we are far crueler to ourselves than others are to us. With that in mind, I challenge you to pick your poison. Be as kind or as cruel to yourself as you want.”

Botta was intrigued by the question, but he could feel his breathing dampened by what he could only assume was blood in his throat and lungs. Part of him was wary to speak, not wanting to let on just how injured he really was. But as he considered his answer to the question, he realized that it was himself he wanted to keep it from, not Yuan.

It didn’t matter if Yuan knew. Botta had already made his decision.

After taking a moment to clear his throat, he finally responded to Yuan’s question. “I would rather die than return to work for the Desians right now. Leave me to my fate or kill me yourself- I don’t care. But that’s my answer.”

Yuan’s eyes widened in surprise. “Well! If that isn’t a melodramatic reply. You hate the Desians that much?”

Botta glanced away. “I will no longer obey the orders of an organization that does not- not-” He stopped to cough. “-value its members’ lives.”

There was a moment of silence, and a sparkle of recognition took hold in Yuan’s eyes. “I see. That’s how it is. Makes things a lot easier for me.”

Botta opened his mouth to ask what Yuan meant, but he couldn’t get a word out through his clogged throat, and by the time he finally realized what was going on, Yuan had pressed a hand to his forehead.

As his consciousness faded, the last thing that passed through his mind was the name Harun.

The earlier events replayed in Botta’s mind, feeling both as though they were in slow motion and yet all passing in a blur. 

When Magnius had arrived as the new leader of the human ranch, none of those in interim command there knew what to expect. There was some talk from Botta’s comrades that he had been unfairly passed over for the recently vacated position of Grand Cardinal, but Botta was too proper a soldier to question Lord Yggdrasil’s decisions. And while Magnius’ practices put the ranch in disarray for some time, Botta felt no ill will toward his new commander. On the contrary; it was Magnius’ arrival that had brought Harun to the ranch as well.

Magnius had arrived with a posse of new recruits, skilled but inexperienced fighters. Harun was the shortest one, with an innocent face that hid a quick temper and a penchant for responding to high-ranking commanders with sass. Magnius treated such behavior with the same arrogance and disdain he held toward the insubordination of inferior beings, assuring Botta that this was something that could be “beaten out of” Harun. But as the attitude persisted, Botta’s curiosity towards it grew... and so did his interest in the soldier to whom it belonged.

It shouldn’t have worked. There was the gap in status, the gap in age, the professional environment, the nature of their work, and a host of other factors to consider. But no one stopped them. No one scolded Harun for openly flirting with a commanding officer. No one scolded Botta for playing favorites among the lower-ranking soldiers. Even Lord Magnius, who kept a sharp watch on everything that went on at the ranch, seemed to turn a blind eye. 

Everyone accepted it. And Botta grew complacent in their acceptance.

But where several years under Magnius’ control had seen the Desians more comfortable in their routines, it saw stricter control over the prisoners. The humans at the ranch, at least the younger ones with more energy and will to fight back, became more and more unhappy. A riot was inevitable. What wasn’t inevitable, however, was the way that Magnius handled it.

Initially, Botta had accepted Magnius’ apparent plan. Low-ranking soldiers were sent outside to where the prisoners had gathered, under orders to bring the prisoners back into the buildings. Naturally, the prisoners fought against the soldiers to the best of their abilities, and as the humans used their numbers to overwhelm the Desian soldiers before they could call for backup, the rioting group formed into a belligerent cluster.

That was when Magnius’ strategy became apparent to Botta. Unfortunately, it was already too late to stop it.

Magnius’ laughter echoed off the buildings as the area was engulfed in flames. Botta could feel his face turning pale, as he saw the other commanders’ doing as well. Screams of terror and pain filled the spaces in between Magnius’ laughs, and persisted even when the flames began to die down. Botta was the first one to set foot on the charred earth, shuffling through the bodies, his panic growing more and more fervent as he searched through the scalded remains for a familiar face he knew had been in the middle of the scuffle.

It was a horrible way to die. Harun’s face was scarred and contorted almost beyond recognition- only enough so to elicit a wail from deep in Botta’s throat. Before it could turn into a scream, he felt a hand reach out and grab the hem of his cloak. One of the humans, just barely clinging to life, tried to beg for Botta’s help. But terrifyingly- or perhaps mercifully- Magnius’ boot landed on the human’s neck with a hollow cracking sound.

“Now you see what happens to inferior beings who misbehave! If any other insolent humans want to step out of line, I’ll be happy to watch you burn as well!” 

Botta took one last glimpse at Harun’s pitiful corpse. The face that had just been smiling at him hours before was now sickening to look at. “L-Lord Magnius, there were our own within that crowd! You... you... murdered them!”

Magnius turned to look at Botta, his eyes narrowing. “I didn’t send anyone into that crowd who wasn’t replaceable and you know it. We all have to make sacrifices to show these inferior beings who’s boss. If you aren’t willing to do even that, what pride do you have in being a Half-Elf?”

The cracking and popping of embers around them punctuated the silence. Botta waited for some kind of back-up from his comrades... but none came. Not a single fellow Desian stood up for him.

It wasn’t like they didn’t know why Botta was so disturbed. No one could miss the way the usually stern captain would soften his voice when giving orders to a certain cadet. No one could miss the way the usually rebellious little soldier would forego any smart-aleck remarks when orders came from Lord Botta. No one could miss the way Botta and Harun regularly disappeared on “evening guard tower patrol” together, despite it being obvious that there was no such thing.They knew. They all knew.

They knew, and yet they said nothing.

It was Botta’s voice alone that shot back at Magnius. Botta’s fist alone that found its way to Magnius’ face. Botta’s sword alone that was drawn when Magnius invited him to fight. 

No matter what the others felt, it was Botta alone who openly mourned. And Botta alone who faced the consequences.

There were still flames racing through Botta’s mind as he returned to consciousness. He glanced around him as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. The walls were modern and clean-looking, as though he were back in a Desian facility. His stomach churned and he started to sit up, but a pain shot through his chest and he collapsed back onto the pillow.

“I wouldn’t try to move too much if I were you. Just because the bleeding has stopped doesn’t mean your wounds are fully healed.”

The voice was familiar enough that Botta recognized it. “Lord Yuan!” he gasped, catching sight of the man watching from the corner. He looked smaller and less intimidating without his wings, but being stuck in bed, Botta had no room to talk. “Where are we?” he demanded.

“Near Triet,” Yuan replied. “This old warehouse was used back when Sylvarant was still flourishing, but it’s since been abandoned. I’ve fixed it up a little- given it my own sort of flair. What do you think?”

Botta frowned. “I think your interior decorating skills leave much to be desired.”

Yuan let out a ‘tsk’ sound and approached the bed. “Harsh words to be saying toward someone who just saved your life. How about a ‘thank you’ for stopping your massive internal hemorrhaging?”

“What’s wrong with you? I asked you to kill me, dammit!”

“If you keep up that attitude, I just might.” Yuan sat down at the foot of the bed and wagged a finger. “You said that you’d rather die than go back to working for the Desians. But since you didn’t seem to understand that there are more options out there for you, I thought you should at least live long enough to make an informed decision.”

“Other options? Besides doing the bidding of Lord Yggdrasil?” Botta replied. “I’m skeptical, but curious.”

Yuan stood up again, holding his arms out with a flourish. “Well, here’s what I’m thinking. There are, of course, the options you’ve considered- dying and returning to the ranch to accept your punishment. But you could always find a place to live here in Sylvarant. Sure, it might be difficult to find a village that would even let you in, much less accept you, but hey! If death is preferable to working with the Desians, then living as an outcast might sound like fun to you.”

Botta frowned, but said nothing. He wondered where Yuan was going with this.

“Then there’s always Tethe’alla. Living conditions are always better in the flourishing world. You’re very smart, so I’m sure they’d give you some sort of laboratory job. Sure, you’d be chained to a lab desk in some underground facility for the rest of your life, but you’d be doing important work... or so I’ve heard. Or...”

“Or?” Botta repeated. 

“Or you could stay here and help me with a little pet project I’m working on.”

There. That was it. Suddenly Yuan’s rambling made more sense.

Botta turned his head away. “I see where this is going. You’re coercing me into doing your dirty work. I apologize that you went to all the trouble to bring me here, but rest assured, I stand by my earlier decision. I will never again be a Desian’s pawn-”

“There you go again, not even waiting to get all the information,” Yuan responded with a sigh. “This is strange for you. Your superiors always reported that you were calm and collected, even in dire situations. But I suppose that shock and grief can do this sort of thing to you.” He stopped and moved to the end of the bed, leaning over to look Botta in the eyes. “How would you like to avenge your friend’s death?”

“...excuse me?”

“Do I have it wrong? Friend, family, lover? What exactly was your relationship with the soldier who died anyway?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Botta quipped, turning his head away. It might’ve been a secret that everyone at the ranch knew, but a secret was still a secret, and he had trained himself to deny it. 

“You must’ve had some relationship with one of the soldiers who died in today’s riot,” Yuan explained. “I know raw grief when I see it. Trust me. Now who did you lose? A friend? A sibling? A love-”

“A lover.” Botta interrupted.

“I see. And what was this lover’s name?”

“Why do you need to know?!”

Yuan didn’t answer right away. He paced back and forth along the end of the bed a few times and then sat down again, looking toward the other side of the room.

“Martel.”

“Excuse me?”

“Mine was named Martel. We never married- we were engaged when she died. What was your lover’s name?”

Botta felt a lump in his throat, and this time it wasn’t from any sort of injury. He spoke lightly, almost frightened to be too loud. 

“Harun.”

“That’s a nice name.” Yuan’s voice was quiet in return, an oddly respectful tone coming from someone who had been so disrespectful so far. “How would you like to help me avenge Harun? To undermine the Desians from the inside, to destroy their plans before they can ever come to fruition? I’ve heard a lot about your skills from Yggdrasil when he was considering who to promote to Grand Cardinal. It’s a shame he picked that brute Magnius over you. With my genius and your strategic planning, we could be Cruxis’ undoing. What do you say?”

Botta finally gathered the strength to sit up, and he did so with a grunt of pain. “Why?” he asked. “Why in the world would one of the Four Seraphim help me with a plan of vengeance against his own organization?”

Yuan shook his head. “It’s not my organization. Not anymore. Yggdrasil has lost sight of what he’s doing- or, rather, why he’s doing it. This is not what Martel would have wanted. Not for either of us.” He looked up again, directing his gaze back at Botta. “But I’m technically still one of the Four Seraphim. To go against Yggdrasil openly would be absurd. It would never work. That’s why I need someone else to be the face of the rebellion. I need an obvious choice- a renegade... and who better than you?”

“A renegade...” Botta clutched at the blankets of the bed, considering the words. “I can’t say I’m sold on the idea just yet. But I am intrigued.”

A satisfied grin spread across Yuan’s face.

“That’s all I need to hear.”